Bates's Head
by E.Phoard
Summary: An exploration of Bates's character and personal growth, especially in relation to his relationship with Anna.
1. Chapter 1

She loved him. She loved him, yet John's feelings were a queer mix of elation and dismay. John saw her look up and blink a few times before she began to follow the cart. He'd caused tears. That cart couldn't have come at a better time. The right thing to do was to show her what sort of old physical wreck he was, the type of man who was pitied by farm hands. He was slowing her down. The right thing to do would be to redirect her to someone else. Perhaps that Moseley fellow.

John had loved her for months. He couldn't pinpoint when his feelings turned the corner from friendship to love, but that should be true of all great loves. At first, he simply appreciated her friendship, her humor, her thoughtfulness. He had noticed her clear, fresh skin, shimmering hair and shiny eyes, but he hoped he noticed them as any man would notice a beautiful young woman. It was only after he found them turned on him, smiling on him more and more, seeking his own dark eyes out in their shared jokes, that was struck by their deep beauty. John was worried, but it was nothing he couldn't control. So long as he kept it to himself, and didn't involve her. It was an indulgence. Happiness of any kind was an indulgence for him.

As the months went by, John found himself in her company more. Smiling more. Laughing more. Feeling alive. Anna was his last thought at night, first in the morning. Sometimes she visited him in his dreams.

By the time Anna caught up with him at the flower show he couldn't contenance pushing her towards Moseley. He'd made her feel awkward, sad, and when she turned her large eyes up him his heart jumped into his throat. He knew that by keeping by her side he was only going to cause her pain, but he couldn't help it. Her place was at his side, and that's where he needed her. She was like an elixir for his shattered life. She was innocent, pure, and even if he wasn't allowed to return her love, he accepted it and needed it.

But John didn't know what to do. He had been looking for Vera for years, if only because knowledge of her whereabouts was safety. He didn't think he could possibly be free of her; he'd never be able to afford a divorce and Vera's health was maddeningly robust. He wouldn't insult Anna by telling her how he felt and then offering a life of sin and sneaking. She was better than that. She deserved a younger man who could give her a home and a family. So much was sordid about John's past he couldn't stand to sully her by dragging her into it. Perhaps a part of him didn't want the light to go out of her eyes when she looked at him, but that was a selfish thought. So he said nothing, contradictory and selfish as it was, and kept her there by his side in suspense.

Anna tried to keep her distance, but she couldn't. It pained John to see how hard she tried to be as usual with him at meals, how she tried not to find him during the day or at night in the yard, but she couldn't. He understood. He told her he understood, but not through words. He told her in every look, in every gesture. He prayed she understood.

Slowly Anna gave up on trying to keep away. They drifted together again. John knew it was wrong to lead her on, but he just didn't know what to do. He was almost relieved to admit to his colleagues of his past ill-deeds. Painful and gut wrenching as it would be for him to see her opinion change and even worse to leave, knowing she was alive in the world and thinking ill of him, it was for the best. Leaving, with Anna's opinion of him diminished, was the right thing to do. Maybe this would show Anna that there was no hope, that she should and could do better than him: a crippled alcoholic with a record who was old enough to be her father.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

John looked right at Anna during the confession of his sins. She tried to interrupt, to find a reasonable explanation that would turn him again into the good man she'd imagined, but he wouldn't let her. He hated to see her beautiful face marred by a creased brow, but John reminded himself that the plan was to redirect her.

John went outside after a rather difficult evening. Anna pensive, his other colleagues uncomfortable, his own thoughts troubled. John felt relieved to come clean about his past, and believed this was the best possible course to resolve the situation with Anna. He knew she'd seek him in the yard after her work was finished for the evening, and he prepared himself for a difficult conversation. He thought he'd face accusations and tears and hear himself torn down by her new, realistic view of him. He steeled himself.

John was ready for her when he heard her footsteps. He thrilled a little to hear her say "Mr. Bates," with the lengthened aaa given by her northern accent. He might not hear it much more, so he needed to savor it. He wondered what it would sound like if she ever said "John," and cursed the social conventions that forced her, the superior, to address him as her better.

John wasn't ready for her. "Will you really leave?" had not been expected. "Are you really a thief and a drunk?" or "Prison?" or perhaps "I was a fool to think I loved a man like you." Something in that vein. Not the note of despair in her voice that he might leave. All of his planned words fell away as he heard himself tell her to go to sleep and dream of a better man. Why couldn't he keep himself from smiling? He wanted to reach over and smooth the crease out of her brow before it stuck. When he heard her steadfast refusal all hope was lost. At some point he had taken her hand (and oh, how could someone who worked all day dusting and cleaning and washing have such soft hands?). He found that they were suddenly leaning in, with a purpose, angling, he could smell her (and oh, how could someone who worked all day on her feet cleaning smell so fresh and of lavendar?) and then a crash brought reality crashing down on them. John looked up in annoyance and tried to catch her eye to see if perhaps she could be lured somewhere more discreet. Anna was the strong one, and with an apologetic look dashed back inside. John knew she was right, knew he had no right to kiss her no matter how much either of them wanted it, but for one brief shining moment….


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Not sleeping was not unusual for John. His mind tended to be active into the small hours, especially after Anna began to haunt what sleep he caught. John wasn't sure how he felt about these visits. He knew how he felt; he longed for her by day and night and was glad he didn't have to share his room, he remembered every detail of these dream visits, but he wasn't sure if he should indulge himself when there was no chance of making the dreams a reality. At first he felt like he should feel guilty when he faced her in the morning, but he didn't.

The night of the near kiss was worse than usual. John stayed outside long after the house was dark, half hoping, half fearing Anna would return. He knew she wouldn't. She was right to run away. John knew it wasn't him she was running from, and as much as he wanted, in his moment of weakness, to lure her to secluded nook farther from the house, he half wished she had been running from him. It would be easier.

When he finally went inside, he prepared for bed slowly. He was sweatier than usual, and after brushing his teeth, washed his face and neck and hair. While it felt good to rinse off the grime of the day, it did little to settle his mind and his senses. He hit the floor (metaphorically; he lowered himself gently using the edge of his bed for leverage) for his nightly hundred pushups. This was a routine that carried over from the Army and prison. A bad leg was no reason to let his entire body atrophy. He tried reading. John's tastes were wide ranging. In his room he had Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, Montaigne, Hume, Thomas Hardy, Mrs. Gaskell, Shelley, Yeats, Bacon, Baudelaire in translation, Edith Wharton and Thomas Malory. He picked up Hardy if only to indulge his tragic-romantic sensibilities.

Seneca would have been a wiser choice. John felt like he was trapped in a Thomas Hardy novel where he was the tortured outsider loving the enchanting village maiden but unable to do anything about it but watch her be taken away by some uncouth farmer. He tossed the book across the room and opened the window, leaning out on his arms. The cool air felt good on his bare arms and chest, and he inhaled deeply, hoping the freshness would do something for his muddled head.

What exactly was he doing? How could he have spent months wrestling with this, weeks trying to redirect Anna, only to come within a fraction of an inch of kissing her? It was closer than that, he remembered. Close enough to almost taste her. He groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair.

John had spent the last few years regathering his life. Prison had been the low, and upon release he had worked to rebuild a life of honor, a life he would be able to discuss without shame. He believed he had done so, but for that to remain true, Anna couldn't be any more than a coworker. He believed, he hoped, he had enough will power to resist the temptation, and he had until her confession. Knowing she felt the same was driving him mad with longing and with guilt and with pride. It would be so easy to tell her he felt the same way and invite her to do something about it. It would be so easy even to tell her he was married so that it could never be more than a fling. She would either agree or be insulted.

The idea disgusted him. They were better than that. Anna deserved better, and John was finished with deceit and squalor. Infidelity was not among his faults; he had been oddly faithful to Vera following an illuminating Army-sponsored hygiene lecture. But it wasn't a question of fidelity to Vera, who had always been more of an appendage than a wife. It was a question of honor, of right and wrong. John knew that acting on his feelings, even feelings that made him feel more whole, more alive than he'd ever felt, would lead to shame and destruction. Even telling Anna he loved her more than he loved himself but there was nothing they could possibly do about it and seeing her heart break would worse for them both. The only thing for it was to continue his efforts to redirect her. If he could fully convince himself there was kindness in it. If only he didn't have to be such a self-sacrificial fool (he chuckled) and could trust in happiness. If he hadn't let his guard down tonight and spoiled his plan. Maybe in time should would understand that by hurting her he was saving her.

John flopped on his bed, hands over his face, and groaned. Anna. She knew the worst of him, and had not withdrawn her love. All he wanted was to roll over and have the solace of her there, asleep in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John hoped a week in London would help Anna gain perspective. He hoped it would help him gain perspective. The plan to redirect her was not going as well as he had hoped. John had underestimated her, and he was weak.

The morning after the near kiss was a little awkward at first, with shy glances from Anna and attempts at nonchalance from John. He wondered if she would say anything. He wondered if he should say anything. Neither of them did though, and they easily slipped back into something resembling their usual routine of meeting by chance throughout the day and talking or just sitting in blissful, companionable silence in yard in the evening. Anna seemed to accept that John wasn't ready or willing to say what he seemed to mean, and John was grateful. Mystified by her love and acceptance, but grateful for it.

One night he was feeling especially introspective, and Anna appeared and perched next to him on his crate. She sat perhaps closer than she needed to; there was plenty of room to leave space, but John didn't scoot to the side like he knew he should have. When she said she was prepared to tell the world what a good and innocent man he was, his heart quivered. He considered putting his arm around her and drawing her close. Nothing more. He knew it would lead to something more. He said something cryptic and sweeping about the world not listening and went inside.

John wasn't given to self-pity. He considered himself realistic, and a man of honor. He should have been proud for not succumbing. He wanted to do the right thing to make up for a lifetime of doing the wrong thing. He loathed himself a little bit. His plan was a failure.

Soon before she left, Anna asked if he would miss her. Her tone was unusually tentative, hesitant even. John had no idea what answer she expected, but he knew what she wanted. He didn't say no, he wouldn't and he didn't say yes he would. He gave her good solid advice, which he knew she wouldn't take. The smile came unbidden to his lips, but it almost always did when he was with Anna.

Lord how could she ask, he wondered later. It was like missing sunlight or air. Life without her was dull, grey, and slow. He was jealous of Mrs. Patmore for getting Anna all to herself. John wasn't a great fan of London, but it had been his home for years and he knew it well. There was so much he'd like to share with Anna, thinking how it would be see it through her eyes. They'd visit the National Gallery and see the great works. Perhaps take in a concert at a church. Visit the array of shops only London could offer. Stroll in the parks. See the palaces and cathedrals, and also see the neighborhood haunts only known to those who have lived there (he'd need to edit that list). Meet his mother. Visit the British Museum, which might be a foray into telling her of his travels.

John slept less than usual while she was gone. At night, after having read until his eyes were crossed and bleary and nothing made sense, he'd invent days for her. He wondered if he would hear about her adventures, or if she would have taken his advice. When sleep did catch up with him, it was fitful and filled with Anna. He should have tried to take his own advice and practice not missing her, but he knew it was hopeless.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She was back. John was relieved, yet on edge. Comforted, yet fearful. John wasn't sure what directions things might take. He spent her absence trying to force himself to adapt to a life without her. He was accustomed to self-denial, and was equipped with a good imagination. If he was destined to be parted from Anna, he could accept it and live with his memories.

Her first day back John felt new life in him. There was sunlight again. Though he was never truly lighthearted, John found himself smiling for no reason, laughing. But they didn't talk that day. He wasn't sure what to say, and Anna didn't seem to have the time, not even in the evening.

John was disappointed. He'd missed her, and now they were in the same space and he still missed her. He missed her more, if that was possible, because he knew where she was and what she was doing and who was she was with. He was philosophical. He had no right to miss her. Perhaps she'd taken his advice. It was, after all, what he was supposed to want.

Back in his room, John settled in for a long night. After his evening ablutions, he stretched out on his bed with his bad leg propped up on a pillow, and a volume of Marcus Aurelius. Before his time in Africa, John was reasonably untroubled, and slept most nights. After the war, his experiences stayed with him, and haunted his sleep. He drank to numb himself, mentally and physically. When he was lucky, he passed out and got some respite from his thoughts. When he wasn't, he went home to Vera.

Vera. John and Vera met when he was 22. She was 25, and worldly enough to captivate a younger man who hadn't been in London long. Her family was also Irish and had moved to England looking for work. Her brother was in the Army, though a different unit than John. John was captivated by Vera. She was as tall as he was, and had piercing light eyes and thick, dark hair. Her features were well defined, and though not beautiful, she was striking. They married quickly. Their personalities were both fiery and quick, and the relationship was stormy and passionate. Vera had an eye for a life of leisure, but was born into the wrong class. The glamour of being an officer's wife appealed to her lazy and greedy nature as much as being an officer appealed to John's sense of pride and honor. John knew that by hard work and promotion, he could go far, so both were excited when the young Earl of Grantham met John. They were about the same age, and immediately hit it off. Within a month, they were off to South Africa. John promised Vera that better life they'd dreamt of when he returned.

When John returned wounded and with a better sense of how promotions worked and what the Earl might be able to do for him, Vera had changed. Gone was the wickedly vivacious woman who at time seemed half gypsy and in her place was a hardened woman who found fault with everything and everyone, especially her husband. According to Vera, his wound was his fault, as was the way the military promotion system worked. She was not sympathetic to his pain. Her once insatiable lust for him was gone. What little intimate contact they had was very utilitarian. John would not think of it as love making, because there was no longer any love, if there ever had been.

Vera and John both enjoyed a drink. They were both competitive. This was not a good combination. Vera drank to see if she could keep up with John. Usually she could, but it brought out the nasty side of her character. She would encourage him to drink more, insult his manhood, insult his mother, and mock his limp. She was repulsed by the wound in his leg. John gave as good as he got, and he had quick temper. Vera was begging for him to hit her, and she knew he wouldn't, but she begged for it by mocking his sense of decency and honor. She began to throw objects in addition to words. John had always had a sharp tongue, and Vera combined with drink only sharpened it.

Sometimes, in moments of sober lucidity, John wondered if Vera was well. The negative qualities of her personality had magnified in his fifteen month absence, and while she was always fiery, now her mood would swing in a matter of seconds. Their personalities had always enhanced each other, but before the war it was exciting. Now they simply brought out the worst in each other. John couldn't afford to do anything, medically or legally, about her.

John found drinking was the perfect antidote to his constant pain, and the perfect sleep aid. He began to drink before reporting to duty in the mornings, and continued throughout the day until he achieved blissful oblivion late in the evening. John took pride in all he did, and he took pride in being able to drink himself blind with no one the wiser. He loved the taste of whiskey even as the love made him hate himself. It came to his attention that Vera was stealing, and seeing other men. He never again shared a bed with her.

It was John's mother who forced him to confront the situation. She descended on him, said he was raised better and should be ashamed. He was ashamed; that hardly helped. She reminded him of his uncle, the one no one talked about but everyone knew. The drunk. The wreck. The embarrassment.

When John finally broke down and confided in his mother, she comforted him. She told him she loved him no matter what, but that his way of life had to change. She encouraged him to seek solace in God. John had never had much use for religion, other than as a socially agreed upon basis for a code of behavior, but he discovered philosophy in the form of Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus. It was his first step to reinvention.

Prison was the second. He needed to be removed from the situation, entirely, in order for it to change. He didn't confess to save his marriage, he didn't go to prison to protect Vera, though he told her he did. John took the blame because he knew destroying his life in that manner would give him the fresh start he needed. Prison forced him to stop drinking, which was awful, and gave him plenty of time to come to terms with his thoughts. He was a new man when he was released.

John, with all the opportunities his second chance had given him, had never anticipated earning the love of a young woman. A young woman determined to see the best of him. A young woman whose love he returned. John loved Anna, but he wasn't in love with her. He distinguished between the situation. The preposition and conjunction gave the idea a reciprocal nature and validity this situation couldn't have. Even if he could find Vera, he couldn't imagine burdening Anna with this mess that was his past. She loved what she thought she knew of him, even if she didn't withdraw her love when she knew everything, it would be wrong to burden her with his life.

As the good emperor advised: Death hangs over you. While you live, while it is in your power, be good. Consider nothing good that betrays your sense of shame. Being in love with Anna would do exactly that.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

John was in hell. Anna had been back nearly a week, and they hadn't really spoken. She had resumed her place next to him at meals, but they met less frequently, and she seemed shy. Quiet. Perhaps she'd taken his advice, and moved on. She was young; it shouldn't be hard for her, especially after a separation.

He had no right to be upset. The sooner he was dismissed the better. But then what? Return to London, crippled and unemployed, close to fifty, and live with his mother?

But life was perverse. He wasn't going to be dismissed, and it was because of Anna. The Earl had mentioned it as an afterthought in the aftermath of the Countess's miscarriage, and John was forced to admit he didn't know what she'd done. Evidently she'd taken it upon herself to save his job, but why was she avoiding him? Was she even avoiding him? This feeling of weakness, of insecurity, of queasy indecisiveness was new and John didn't like it at all.

It had been a long day. The mood of the house changed with the sense of shared tragedy. Everyone spoke in whispers and walked softly, as if the disturbance could carry to the Countess's rooms. John had to admit the highlight of his day had been not that he was keeping his job, but sitting near Anna when William punched Thomas. It wasn't until he was back in his room that he got the chance to open the letter he'd received that morning from his mother.

John and his mother had always been close, though not so close that he shared more than he needed to with her. She was forthright woman, and she got right to the point in this letter. Anna, whom she pronounced a delightful young woman, had been to see her. She had questions about him, and about his past, particularly his time in prison. Since his young friend was so determined to know and seemed to think so highly of him, Mrs. Bates had seen fit to tell her everything. Anna had been under the impression John was a widower; Mrs. Bates filled her in on Vera. She closed with a reminder that happiness wasn't a sin.

That explained it. His mother had told Anna everything. Evidently it had been enough to both save his job and kill her fancy for him. John had told her everything, in his way, but his mother's version of the truth was different. And she knew about Vera.

There was no point in even pretending like he might sleep tonight.

John hadn't intended to mislead Anna about Vera; the "I've been married" business was an attempt to transition to the more glaring reasons why he wasn't suitable for her. No wonder Anna was avoiding him. She thought he was toying with her, that he a was a philanderer. He needed to talk to her. They still couldn't be together—surely Anna understood that now—but he needed to apologize and thank her. Anna deserved better than an old married man, and he needed to make sure he wasn't misunderstood. There was no point in continuing to try to diminish her opinion of him; that was done.

John groaned. He could conceal his feelings forever from anyone but her. There was something about her, some fey quality that disarmed him entirely, and he didn't realize it was happening until it was too late and he'd given away too much, even if only through a look or a smile.

It had been a hot and sticky day. His room felt close. John opened the window to let in the air that had been freshened by a rainshower. The cool, damp air felt good against his bare chest, and he felt it clearing his head. The same litany of problems beat in his head; he would deal with them one at a time starting in the morning, if he could corner Anna.

John opened _The__Brothers__Karamazov._It suited his mood, but after a few chapters all he wanted to do was drink. Doestovesky often had that affect on him, but tonight it was unbearable. Better to put it down than risk succumbing. He stretched and ran his hands through his hair.

Irish mythology had been a favorite when he was a boy. His mother read them to him in the evenings. Looking back, they were a little disturbing, but he credited these tales with creating his love of reading and his vibrant imagination. The book was bent and weathered, and fell open halfway through.

Sylphs. Stolen brides and raids. The Sidhe. The Sidhe had a reputation for beautiful women with yellow hair and lithe forms. This book wasn't a good choice either. Every mystical female took Anna's form. Captivating, dainty and blond with wide innocent eyes. Perfectly proportioned, graceful, strong. John leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. Anna. He felt like one of the hapless humans who fell into Faery.

She would tease him of an evening, when he was lying on his bed, hoping sleep might come. Anna would appear in the darkness, shining in the moonlight. She was always in her nightgown; he'd actually seen her in it once and even with her swollen eyes and red nose, she was more beautiful than he'd seen her before or since, except perhaps the day she told him she loved him. It was one of the few times she'd been the natural Anna, not the uniformed one.

Sometimes this faery Anna just stood near the end of the bed, and they stared at each other. Sometimes she would join him on the bed, lying next to him. Sometimes John just regarded her reverently, other times he touched her lightly. He drew one fingertip lightly up her arm, circling her elbow joint, and back down, observing the restrictions of his nightclothes. He would then move to her neck, tracing his finger lightly up and down along her collarbone until she shivered. One shoulder would peak out of the wide neckline, tantalizing him with pale flesh. Intertwining his fingers with hers, he would then move to her face and finally bring his lips to hers in one soft and gentle kiss. John was uncomfortable moving beneath the confines of the nightgown of even an imaginary Anna. He believed it would be too tortuous for him later.

Occasionally though, on nights when he was more restless than usual, he would. He would pull the faery Anna astride him and push the blasted nightgown over her head and let his hands wander to her breasts while her head was back in ecstasy. John preferred to keep her at his side though, covered. He never felt ashamed or embarrassed to meet the real Anna after these nighttime visits. The feelings were not wrong; they were natural and good. The wrongness would be in acting upon them. The wrongness was in their impossibility.

John groaned again. Reading was useless, even if he could keep his mind on it. His candle had blown out in the breeze and the damp was making his leg ache. He stood, stretched, and limped to the bed. He crawled under the blankets, and put his arms between the pillow and his head. Why was doing the right thing so painful? Why did happiness insist on toying with him? Was it wrong to just want her sleeping next to him, curled against in his side in the moonlight?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Cornering Anna had not worked. She eluded him at every opportunity. Finally, the morning before the garden party, he managed to get as far as "My mother sends her warm regards" when Anna was called away. Her eyes grew large before left. John couldn't help but smile. She thought he thought she had overstepped.

And she knew he was married.

John thought that was the perfect opening to a frank and honest conversation, and hoped Anna would take it from there. She didn't approach him again until the middle of the party, but at least she made an attempt at her former light flirtatious tone. He responded in kind. Immediately she changed the subject, jumping to the wrong conclusion. John was so concerned with letting her know he wasn't upset and wiping the crease out of her brow that he wasn't entirely sure what he said. It registered with him that "my mother's truth" was nonsense when Anna asked about his wife's truth. Mother's truth, wife's truth, his truth. Of course truth was a construct, but statements like that were the sort of relativistic blather he hated in his world of clear right and wrong, proper and improper. Anna's presence had that affect on him.

Two thoughts were in John's mind as she returned to work. The first was that he needed to fix this. Anna had shown she cared enough to track down his mother and save his job; the least he could do was tell her the truth about his past in something other than vague allusions. He needed the crease on her brow to go away. He needed to not cause it to be there. The second thought was of how provocative faery Anna had been the previous night. After kissing her wrists and the hollow of her neck, he discovered a delightful area behind her ears which he outlined a few times with his fingers and tongue. She seemed to like it. Afterwards she fell asleep in his arms.

John wondered what the real Anna would think.

John was so entranced he was startled by Molesley's arrival. He hoped he didn't look too lecherous. John didn't care for Molesley. He didn't know why exactly; he just didn't. Suddenly he knew why. Dull, servile, subservient Molesley. Not an ounce of passion or ambition. John couldn't bear the thought of him anywhere near Anna. Best to kill it immediately. At least John didn't have to lie.

As Molesley, lips pursed, slunk away John stood a little straighter. It seemed he had something else to tell Anna. He couldn't just warn off other men and yet leave her seemingly spoken for. Apparently he had made a decision.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

John had intended to ask Anna if he could speak with her after he had finished with His Lordship for the evening. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, but the air needed to be cleared. He never had the chance to ask her. With the announcement of war bringing the party to an abrupt end, Anna was swept up in the chaos of settling unsettled sensitive noble women and clearing away the wreckage.

John was exhausted. The Earl had kept him later than usual talking about the war and rehashing the good old days of their service together in Africa. The poor man actually thought the Army would want him to serve. It had taken all John had in him to refrain from rolling his eyes. War was for young men. The old were presumably smart enough to know there was no glory in it and that killing other men and living in tents didn't prove anything.

John had half hoped Anna might still be up when he passed through the hall on his way upstairs. But no, those days were gone. She no longer waited for him. She'd surely have been asleep for an hour or more. The image of her in bed came to him as he dragged himself up the stairs: The white nightgown showing her lower arms and legs, the wide neck showing a hint of shoulder; her hair in a loose braid. She slept on her side, he was sure, one hand under her pillow, the other balled under her chin. Her lips slightly parted, some of her hair across her face. John could imagine no better rest than being next to her, his arms around her, his chin resting above her head, his fingers brushing her hair away from her eyes, Anna never waking and perhaps sighing happily in her sleep.

But that would never be. Anna knew everything, and was rightly keeping her distance. She'd probably run to Molesley and tell him that Mr. Bates was mistaken when he said there was someone special. There was no one special.

John undressed, washed, did his pushups, and settled in for a long night with a book Mr. Branson had lent him: _The__Dubliners_. Mr. Branson had been zealous in his praise of Joyce when he handed the book to John a few days earlier. John enjoyed the sparse realism of his style, and wondered what he would do when his writing matured.

Before Anna, John could easily devour a book a night. Now he had trouble focusing for long. She was always at the back of his thoughts, and often at the front. It had never been like this with Vera. Vera had been fast and exciting and he always knew where he stood and what she thought, and wasn't troubled by doubt or sleeplessness. When Anna told him she loved him was this what she meant? Did she mean this all-consuming need, this physical ache, the longing? John thought he could bear it if only he didn't know she had, at one point, loved him, and that he had destroyed that with his fumble about Vera. If he hadn't known, he would just be another dirty old man. Knowing she had some sort of feelings in return that could never be realized was torment.

John realized he'd been starring at the same page for twenty minutes. In spite of his physical exhaustion, he was wide awake. Maybe some fresh air would help. Real fresh air, not an open window. A stroll to clear his head and put things in perspective. John loved the night sky. True darkness and true purity of air was not something he ever experienced in London. Before arriving in Yorkshire, he'd only really experienced it on visits to Ireland. In Africa darkness did not encourage peace. In prison he never saw the sky. John felt more alive in the night air, more free. He felt alone, yet in a different way than he felt alone in his room. That was a sense of aloneness in the midst of people. Alone outdoors was an aloneness with himself.

John threw on his pajama pants and undershirt and old fisherman's sweater, the only concession to regular clothing being his sturdy boots. He couldn't risk slipping on the wet grass and lying there on his face till morning when he would be ridiculed by and whispered about by the whole household. He looked rough, but that was who he was at this time of night. During the day he was Bates the valet, the picture of decency and discretion and taste. At night he didn't much care.

As he closed his door behind him, he glanced through the glass towards Anna's door, half hoping to see a light. Not that it would do him any good; a light would only mean she and Gwen were talking. Anna was asleep, dreaming of a better man.

Once outside, John breathed deeply, filling his lungs with cleansing cool air. He headed across the lawn to the temple. He didn't regret warning off Molesley, but he knew he should. Honorably it was wrong, very wrong. Molesley was in a position to offer so much more to Anna than he would ever be able to….if Anna wanted him. John knew it was best for her, but he also knew he couldn't possibly sit beside her everyday while she was involved with someone else, especially not snivelling, servile Molesley. Anna needed someone with more fire.

Was it selfish to hear a voice, deep down, say Anna needed him? It was certainly selfish to say he needed Anna. But if love was also selfless, he needed to do the best for her. Renounce her. Tell her about Vera, tell her about what he said to Molesley and offer to make it right, and renounce her.

He groaned. In the crispness of the night air, he could just see a future for him and Anna. Just barely, it seemed reachable. They loved each other and were happy together. What else did they need? John wasn't sure how long he'd really be able to satisfy himself with faery Anna when real Anna was nearby, especially if her feelings hadn't changed. She deserved marriage, a family, a name, not illicit meetings and sneaking and lies. John was so tired of fighting with himself, but he couldn't just give her up. It was right but it was wrong. He hated this feeling of powerlessness. It didn't feel like him, not the him he wanted to be. The fight was still with Vera.

The night was mild and beautiful. The moon waxing in a starry sky, he could see the temple reflected on the pond and hear nothing but the silence and the night creatures. It was perfect. If Anna were with him, she would be sitting next to him, back straight, hands on her knees. He would slowly reach behind her and draw her near. She would rest her head on his shoulder and they would watch for rabbits on the lawn on in the starlight.

John thought he saw something stirring, something white, near the house. When he stopped drinking he temporarily lost the ability to distinguish between what was real and what wasn't. He knew getting the years of alcohol out of his system was going to be painful, and the night before he turned himself in he drank more than he ever had. It needed to last the rest of his life. The first day in prison he was his usual numb self. By the end of the second day John could feel the alcohol leaving his body. By the end of the third day everyone knew he was a drunk. The fourth day the shaking started, the terrors, the sweating, the violent illness. He remembered hearing horrible, terrifying screams and distantly wondering what was wrong, who was being killed, and being dimly aware that it was him. He saw things. Things crawling on him and out of the walls. He could still, after a few years, remember the stink and the violent illness. By the seventh day the worst of it was over, though it was a few weeks before he could manage to eat. A few more before the shaking subsided. He lost weight and lost color. His mother was shocked. She didn't understand the drinking. She had assumed that it was a will power issue that he could control if he tried. She didn't understand it was a need he had to break himself of. Upon his release she gave him a glass of whiskey out of habit. One sip and John was violently ill. At least he knew he'd never be a drunk again.

John gazed at the stars. Would renouncing Anna be as painful as renouncing alcohol? Did he see something near the house? Hear something? Of he didn't. This wasn't some second-rate novel in which the star-crossed hero and heroine met in their nightclothes in the abandoned summerhouse. This was prosaic reality.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It was the real Anna. Faery Anna never spoke. She was there, actually there before him on the damp lawn, her nightgown covered by a sweater, her feet in soft slippers, her hair in that loose braid he remembered. She was more beautiful than he remembered and imagined.

John composed himself. It was time. He hoped it wasn't too painful for either of them.

"Mr. Bates."

"Anna. I nearly took you for one of the good folk."

"Best keep a bit of iron about you then so you don't get snatched away."

"I don't know that I mind spending seven years in the company of certain members of that race."

This was going to be hard. John couldn't help saying these things when she was near. They came unbidden to his lips and were out before he had time to consider. As did the smile and lowering of his voice.

Anna sat next to him on the temple stairs. He turned to consider her face more closely than he had recently. She looked tired, a little haggard.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he wondered aloud while marveling at her beauty and her timing. No chance of interruption.

Interruption of what? Nothing more than an unfortunate confessional.

"I might ask you the same question."

Indeed.

"I felt like some fresh air was in order." No need to explain he couldn't sleep for being haunted by her. She didn't want to know.

Anna looked at the sky. "I couldn't sleep."

John couldn't think of safe response, so he looked at her again, deep into her eyes this time. His resolve was crumbling. Should he? Could he? Did she even want him to?

Anna turned. She looked straight ahead. John was content to let her lead; just that she was outside with him the night was enough for him to follow anywhere.

"What were you and Mr. Molesley talking about this afternoon?"

Not what he expected. He had expected something about his own lies to her, perhaps an accusation, or even something about what changes the war might bring to their little world. John swallowed hard. He looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees. He looked at the sky. Now or never.

"We were discussing you. He asked me if I knew if you had someone special, or if I thought he might have a chance."

Silence.

"And what did you tell him?" Was her voice a little shaky? Was she blinking fast while she gazed at the stars? Was there hope, in this hopeless mess?

John swallowed again, his eyes following hers to the sky. Was that Lyra overhead?

"I told him I knew you did, and that if I were him, I wouldn't take the chance as the person in question is very keen on you."

Silence. John was sure she could hear his heart beating. A fox ran by. He hoped the rabbits were safe.

"Do you know who this mysterious person who is said to be so keen on me might be?" The lilt was back in her voice, barely. It shouldn't be. He was getting to the hopeless part. Hopeless when she was outside with him in the perfect still night and they were alone and it felt right.

"As it happens, I do know. The trouble is, he isn't sure what to do about it." There.

"This person can't just be happy to admire and be loved in return?"

John had never considered it that way. Just to love. What an interesting idea. What was she suggesting? The trouble was she deserved more, and he wanted more. The trouble was she was still interested, knowing him to be married and to have made a false confession for a wife he didn't love and couldn't find. That was his mother's truth, which was as good as Anna's truth.

He kept starting and stopping. He looked down. Her fingers were intertwined with his. When had that happened? He turned to her. Her gaze was still fixed straight ahead. Could he possibly put his arm around her and hold her close to his side and tell her there was no hope? Would that make it better or worse?

"Anna, I…well, I…I shouldn't have said that to Mr. Molesley. I can find him tomorrow and tell him I was mistaken."

"So this admirer isn't keen?" Her voice quivered a little. John cursed himself. Repeatedly. He heard an owl. It was a beautiful and eerie sound. He did it. He put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side like he'd dreamt of doing so many times. She felt perfect. Small and snug and solid and perfect.

"Anna, this admirer has made a mess of his life, and can't contemplate making a mess of someone else's. You deserve better, and you also deserve better than Mr. Molesley, but at least there's something he can offer you."

"Would that make you happy? If I were to receive Mr. Molesley's attentions while you know I love you?"

John chuckled to himself. He drew her closer. Maybe he was a hypocrite, but she felt so good. He put his face to the top of her head and breathed in. Her hair was so soft. She smelled like roses and lavender and furniture polish and Lady Mary's perfume. She was intoxicating.

He would endeavor to be happy for Anna's sake if he thought she could or would be happy with Mr. Molesley. He would ache and burn with jealousy and frustration and longing. He would feel hollow. Empty. He would lose weight and color and humor. He may as well take Vera back and start drinking again.

"No." He whispered, half-choked, into her hair.

"Can't you just love and be happy to be loved in return?"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Back in his room just before dawn, John couldn't believe how the night had turned out. She'd actually come outside in her nightgown! She still loved him! He loved her! He'd kissed her and she kissed him back!

He hadn't intended to. Things were going so well John didn't want to press his luck, and really, just having her there against him was enough. More than enough.

John had released her hand long enough to wrap that arm around her and draw her to him, and then took the hand in his other. Her felt her quiver and sigh as she settled against him. He kept his hand on her shoulder, but the temptation to wander was strong. It just didn't seem right. It seemed very right, just not then, not that first night. They'd been sitting in blissful, companionable silence for a while, John stroking Anna's fingers and running his coarse thumb over her smooth palm, when she said, her voice a little shaky again, "I still love you, Mr. Bates. I know you have reasons and you don't have to tell me…."

He'd have none of that tonight. It had been his intention ever since to the party to come completely clean, but the night had taken such a dramatic turn he wouldn't spoil it with his anxieties.

John pulled Anna even closer, marveling at how well she fit against him. His mouth was on hers before she finished her sentence. Her mouth was soft and moist and welcoming. He pulled back so their noses were touching and whispered, "Oh Anna, I love you too." John smiled as her eyes widened as he leaned in to kiss her again. There was nothing tentative about her response. It was like they'd been doing this their whole lives. John was glad he'd brushed his teeth before coming outside. Each kiss was slower, longer, and more luxurious than the one before. John didn't want anything to feel fast and frantic. He wanted to savor, in case it had to last. He moved his lips to that spot he'd been contemplating at the garden party. She did seem to approve. He heard the owl again, and somewhere in the distance a shot was fired. All the while Anna's supple body was pressed closer and closer to his. John realized, now that his hand had left her shoulder, he could slip it between her sweater and her nightgown and feel her even closer. .Feel the heat off her body, the tension in her muscles…He wasn't sure if he should. He did. She moaned softly into his ear. He kept his hand firmly just on her side where his thumb could graze the swell of her breast. He realized she wasn't wearing a corset. Of course she wouldn't wear a corset to bed; he knew she wasn't as soon as he saw her, but the physical knowledge was something else entirely from the mental awareness.

John swallowed hard and looked into her eyes. They tacitly agreed to come up for air, and Anna rested her head against John's chest while he ran his hand down her back and kissed her firmly on her head. Her hands were still; John knew she wasn't sure what to do with them, and he felt a twinge in his chest for it. Much as he hated to invite reality, they had been outside for hours and his leg was starting to throb and they should attempt a little rest before facing the early day. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Much as I hate to say it, we should consider going back inside." She agreed, and they walked in silence through the dew back to the house. The sky was starting to lighten to grey, and John thought he could hear the sounds of approaching dawn from the birds and leaves. He kissed her hand at the back door and said "Goodnight Anna." She put her hands on his chest and said "Goodnight Mr. Bates" and disappeared upstairs. John followed, hoping they hadn't left obvious footprints.

He stretched out on his bed, reliving each blissful second, not expecting to sleep at all, not with the taste of Anna on his lips, when suddenly he jolted up. It was nearly half an hour past his usual time to rise. He readied himself for the day as quickly as he could and tried to stifle the boyish grin that kept appearing.

When John arrived at breakfast, Gwen met his eye knowingly over her teacup. Mr. Carson was muttering about muddy footprints at the backdoor. John hated the encroachment of reality. For his own sake, he didn't care what they thought. For Anna's sake, he cared deeply. He would not have her talked about. He doubted Lord Grantham would actually dismiss either of them, but John didn't want to put him in the position to have to consider it.

John was on his fourth cup of tea by the time Anna arrived at the table. She met his eye shyly and looked down to hide her own foolish grin. She looked tired, but radiant. Almost feverish. Mrs. Hughes asked her if she felt alright. As Anna slid into her place next to John she answered that she hadn't slept well. It must have been all the excitement of the previous day. John rubbed his leg against hers. Excitement indeed.

He still needed to apologize for Vera. He wondered if that would be different now. There was still so much to say.

John found her later in the morning while she and Gwen were making Lady Mary's bed. Gwen looked from one to the other of them, smiled, and left the room. Anna kept working as he asked, "Did you tell her anything?..."

"I had to. She'd been up and saw I was gone. She approves."

John wasn't sure now that she said if he liked people knowing. It was nice to have a secret. Gwen was a nice girl though, and discreet, and Anna needed a confidant.

John watched her work. He loved how the ties on her apron accentuated her narrow waist.

"Is there a time later when we could talk?" He lowered his voice. "Alone?" He bent over the bed with her to smooth the blankets. Anna did it with such grace. Her wrists and fingers were so dainty and so capable. He'd never considered how strong she was and yet how seemingly fragile until he'd actually felt her. She did everything with such grace.

Her eyes turned to him, large and sparkling, he grinned at her grin. "I could meet you later tonight when everyone is asleep."

Temptress.

He took a step closer. And another. His chin was resting on the top of her head. Her breasts were brushing his chest. They could wander further into the woods, or maybe take a blanket to the temple. They could throw off all social convention and set up housekeeping. He could lead Anna into a life of ruin and shame while she led him into a life of happiness and contentment and bliss.

"We can't make nights like last night, wonderful as it was, a habit. You need your rest."

She dropped her eyes. He shouldn't risk kissing her in the house. He shouldn't risk touching her in the house. He shouldn't be helping her at all. He kissed her between her eyes. She smiled.

"The ladies are going out and Mrs. Hughes said we're all to take it easy this afternoon after all the excitement yesterday. I'll be free until they dress for dinner."

"Excellent." John smiled. "I had planned to walk to Crawley House and find Mr. Molesley to clear up a misunderstanding we had yesterday, but that no longer strikes me as a priority. Perhaps you'd care to join me for a walk?"

"Perhaps I would," she replied with a wicked grin.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

John had shoes to polish. It was tedious, but one of the aspects he liked about his job was so much of it could be done with his brain engaged elsewhere. So he sat in the yard with his polish and brushes and pile of shoes, working, thinking about where he might take Anna this afternoon, what he would say, how he would say it and how she might respond. That was the part concerning him the most. Even though she'd brought up the love and be loved, even though she hadn't seen reason yet, there was still the chance.

Now that he'd had a taste of happiness, a taste of Anna, John wasn't certain he'd be able to do without.

William joined him, wanting to talk about the war. Boys like William were one of the reasons John hated war. William saw only the honor and glory, not the senseless destruction. William didn't understand the honor and glory came through killing, killing of boys just like himself. There was no honorable way to get around that part of it. John knew of no way to explain it to William, and he was saddened by it. William would join up, go off with a heightened sense of purpose, and come back shattered in body and spirit, if he came back at all. John considered, and told William that the army would instill a feeling of pride in himself and his country, and would give him a sense of purpose. Telling him any different wouldn't help William. He'd already made up his mind to serve for King and Country and all that. John wasn't sure how well William even grasped the issues underlying this war. All he saw was the chance to prove himself, as a man and an Englishman, against a perceived threat.

John felt old.

Then William asked John about his own experiences in Africa. John didn't look up from the shoes. John said something vague about the landscape and the people he met. William asked about his injury. Had he received a decoration for it. John looked directly at him and said, his voice clear but with finality, "The enemy shot at me and didn't miss." Yes, he'd received decorations but bits of metal on ribbon couldn't make up for the pain and the destruction to his life.

William got the hint.

The conversation succeeded in destroying John's good mood. He would not talk about the war or how he was injured. He could not. William couldn't know that, but it didn't make John any less angry.

He wanted to be alone to stew and try to forget. Trying to forget was hard without whiskey. And he had to talk about Vera with Anna. John was silent through luncheon. He waited for Anna near the kitchen garden. They had not mentioned their plans, but John saw no reason to hide them. He didn't intend to call attention to whatever their new situation might be, but he wasn't planning to sneak around and contrive meetings and disappearances.

She had changed her dress. It was something blue and white and simple. They smiled and set off toward the village. They walked in silence, close but not touching, arms occasionally brushing. John knew he had to start sometime. He couldn't do it in public, he couldn't stand having an intimate conversation and risk an audience. Anna didn't seem to be in a public sort of mood either, and after glancing in the shop windows, they turned onto a path through a grove leading to Hackfall Wood. They stopped near a folly supposed to be a gothic structure.

John knew Anna was waiting for him to begin. They had barely spoken since leaving the house. He just didn't know how to start. He was fidgetty, looking out into the trees, hearing shouts and guns instead of birdsong and stillness.

"I had something important to tell you, but William asked me about Africa this morning and I can't seem to think of anything else."

"I wondered. Would you like to tell me about the war instead? You can."

He met her eyes. She was right. He could. He wanted to. He tried. He couldn't.

"Maybe someday."

He looked away. His hands were clasped between his knees. He wanted to take off his hat. He wanted the screaming to stop.

"Mr. Bates, you can trust me with anything you want to tell me. When I said that nothing I would learn about you would change my opinion of you, I meant it. Nothing."

Trust. John wasn't sure it was a question of trust, but maybe it was. Who exactly was he trusting though?

"I didn't mean for you to think I was a widower. I had no idea you did until my mother told me so and that she'd told you the truth. I thought I was clear when I said I wasn't free, but my mother says I can be vague, and sometimes when I'm with you I lose track of what I'm saying. I'm sorry I led you on, and I'm sorry that I can't offer you anything."

Anna didn't say anything.

"I love you, I have loved you, and was reconciled to loving you in silence. I never dreamt you might think of me as anything other than a good friend. When you were bold enough to voice what was in my heart, my world opened and collapsed. Opened with the hope and the joy that is returned love. Collapsed in the despair that I may never be in a position to act on it honorably and properly."

Anna still didn't say anything.

"Anna, I don't know where Vera is. I haven't seen her or heard from her in years. I have been looking. I have been looking since before I came to work here. I have a few contacts who are looking. Every time I am in London I visit her usual haunts, and no one knows where she is. Sometimes I hope she's dead and someone is trying to find me. If she isn't I will likely never be able to rid myself of her. Knowing her, she knows where I am and she'll show up one day when she's ready."

John half expected Anna to cry or leave. He underestimated her. Finally she looked at him intently.

"Your mother told me you went to prison to save your marriage. You told me I only knew your mother's truth. What's your truth? What's Vera's truth?"

A butterfly landed on Anna's knee. That truth nonsense…

"Vera doesn't have a truth." He watched the butterfly as it perched and stretched its wings. "I went to prison to save myself. Vera and I married when we were young, for the wrong reasons. I persuaded myself to believe we were in love, and I left for Africa soon after we were wed." He turned his gaze straight ahead. "When I returned we had both changed, and we brought out each other's less desirable qualities. We drank and fought constantly; she stole, she slept with other men. I just drank. I realized one day the only way to change the situation was to get out of it, completely, so I said I'd take the blame and disgrace for her crime."

John had never told anyone. He felt lighter somehow.

"I'm sorry I was distant with you when I returned from London. I was confused."

"I was afraid I'd lost you even though I have no right to have you."

"You keep saying that, and I haven't asked you for anything. I have no expectations from you other than love. That's what I meant last night. And considering that it hasn't even been a day since you were able to admit to me that you love me, isn't talking about offering me anything premature?"

John smiled that the lilt was back in her voice. He took her hand.

"You are young and lovely in every way. You deserve someone who can offer you a future, a name, a home, a place in society. All I can offer you is my love. We may never be able to have more than what we had last night, and you are not meant to live a life based on stolen moments and deceit. I love you, but I want you to be free to be happy."

"Why are you so determined to know what's best for me? It is my life and my love and you will not push me away! You will not make this decision for me. All I want is you, and if this is all we have this is all we have. That's what I meant last night. Love and be loved and be happy."

John loved the fire in her. Such a different fire than Vera's, more tempered and mellow. Her eyes sparkled with it.

"But what if you want more than I can give you? As girl, didn't you dream of a home and family?"

Anna looked down. A tear. And another. John waited. No sound but a goldfinch.

"Anna? You can tell me."

He slid his arm around her waist. He removed his hat and hers.

Anna blinked until the tears stopped.

"My mother didn't encourage me to dream."

John drew her closer. They had darkness to explore together.

"I expect to take over from Mrs. Hughes in time. Love was not part of the plan, but I'm willing to take whatever we can have. If it isn't enough, I'll let you know."

She sought his free hand. She was wearing gloves. John wanted, needed, to touch skin not bits of cloth. He released her and took one hand in his, slowly unhooked the buttons at the wrist, and slid his thumb between the fabric and skin, loosening it before he massaged his fingers over hers, working the tight glove off of her hand. He observed her lidded eyes and quickened breath, and caught her lips with his before moving to her other hand. Her hands smelled like roses.

John whispered into her neck "I'm afraid I'll want more."

"I think your problem is you're afraid too much."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

John began to discover Anna. He knew her, he knew he loved her, but now that he had embraced it, he was discovering her. He wasn't sure it made sense if he would try to explain it to her, this knowledge discovery business, but in the dark and quiet of the night it was perfectly clear.

John never tried to define what it was about Anna he loved; he simply loved her, selflessly for who she was and selfishly for how she made him feel. Part of that bundle of feelings was desperate desire to keep her safe, especially after her mention of her mother not encouraging her dreams.

That troubled John, but he didn't press Anna. Their agreement seemed to be each would tell the other in their own time, knowing understanding and compassion waited if needed. John was curious though how anyone could not have encouraged a young Anna. He had never thought much about her past; he had hoped she'd had a happy childhood as he had, but once he thought about it he realized she probably didn't grow up dreaming to be head housemaid in a large country house. John needed to know more.

It came out the night after Gwen left for her new life. The staff had a small party for Gwen her last night. Mrs. Patmore made a cake, William played the piano and Mr. Branson brought the whiskey. John wished Gwen well, smiled at Anna, and retired. Usually they met outside at the end of the day, but he knew they would want a final night to talk. John was worried about Anna losing her confidant. She needed someone nearly her equal to talk to, to share things with she wouldn't share with him. John was afraid (he smiled at his ceiling, for he was on his back on his bed waiting for morning remembering) that in this new situation they found themselves in there would be things she would need to talk about with someone other than him.

John noticed Anna was her cheerful self when Gwen left, giving her a firm hug and making her promise to write and in turn promising to visit. He hoped they'd follow through, but it was so easy to make a parting promise in good faith and then lose it in the excitement of a new life. John would have helped Anna make the beds, but the Earl kept him busy obsessing about getting uniforms out of storage and seeing which ones still fit and which needed to be remade. John was glad he was well paid. He didn't catch up with Anna again until dinner. He noticed she was quiet. He debated putting his hand on her knee. Thomas was being especially foul to him. Anna put her hand on his knee while he responded, exercising his sharp tongue. It was something he needed to do now and again.

They met in the kitchen courtyard after most everyone was in bed, as had become their habit. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they sat watching the night, sometimes they wandered out of sight. John's only real fear was of being locked out. He took to propping the door a certain way so Mr. Carson would know it wasn't safe to lock up, and that he'd do it later.

Anna was already sitting on a bench when John arrived. She looked pensive. He smiled as he took his place at her side, resting his hands and chin on his cane. Anna turned her eyes to him and offered a small smile. John wondered what it was, and how he could draw it out of her.

"Such a pleasant night, after such a humid day. There's a hint of autumn to the air."

"Oh, yes."

"It was a long day."

"Very."

They sat in silence. John was torn. He needed to know what was bothering Anna and how he could fix it, but as someone who was not naturally open, he deeply respected her desire for privacy. He took a chance.

"It was an exciting day for Gwen. The start of a new life, hope, promise. Fulfilled dreams. But I know you'll miss her."

"Mr. Bates, would it make me a bad friend to say I envied Gwen a little?"

Anna jealous?

"No, but envy how? You could learn to type and get an office job if you wanted to. That's certainly not outside your capabilities."

"I don't want a different job." She sighed, and looked at the sky. John looked at her. That crease was back on her forehead. He'd kiss it away, but it didn't seem right just now. "I envy Gwen for getting to follow her dreams."

"Because your mother didn't encourage you to do so?"

She smiled into her lap. Her hands were there. "My mother didn't encourage me in much of anything. I was unexpected: I arrived eight years after my brother, and money was tight. My father loved me, but he died suddenly when I was eleven."

John felt a tension in his chest. The low grumble of rage. Anna had not had that happy childhood he'd hoped for for her.

"I was clever in school, and my teacher said if I worked hard, I could get a scholarship to a teacher program. My father saved all the extra money for me to have books and I never had to do any chores. He saw me as the village schoolmistress, and if he could save for me to have lessons in French and fancy sewing, he saw me teaching at the boarding school near Keighley. I spent all my time reading or playing on the moors."

She shifted on the bench. All were in bed now. The cat came out from behind a barrel, looking for his dinner.

"After my father died, my mother made it clear I was nothing but a burden. She used the money he'd saved to pay for his funeral, and one day when I came home from school she'd sold my books. My brother was working on a farm and sent his wages home. She told me it was time to get the nonsense out of my head, and put me to work scrubbing laundry after school. I tried to keep up, but I was too tired. I fell behind."

John hated the woman. He could see Anna in charge of a group of young people, patient, sympathetic, strict but kind. She was a natural teacher. The cat swatted an insect.

"I left school when I was fourteen. My mother sent me out scrubbing in the houses around Haworth. She said it was high time I started earning my keep. She kept my wages."

John wanted to pull her onto his lap and wrap himself around her.

"I got a position as under housemaid at a grand house on the moors. The housekeeper was kind, and the lady's maid taught me fancy sewing. There was a farm hand with a promise of his father's farm who fancied me. I didn't think much of him, but he was a diversion. I was curious."

John wondered just how curious. He hoped this farm hand was at least decent. He didn't want to have to track him down and hurt him. But he would. Anna's eyes kept shifting between her hands and the sky. John's stayed on her.

"We kissed a few times. It was horrible and fast and he smelled of manure and sweat and beer. His hands were sweaty and his teeth were bad and he was so rough, so forceful. He made me an offer and I refused. I made the mistake of telling my mother. She said I was a disappointment, and not a grand lady who could turn down marriage proposals. She reminded me my only other option was this life. I took it, rather than be dependant on some man like that. My mother died soon before you came here, and my money's my own. My brother doesn't write."

Her tone changed. "I like it here; I'm respected and I'll likely take over for Mrs. Hughes in time. But I certainly never dreamt of cleaning someone else's grand house or helping ladies dress. I didn't dream of being a teacher either, really, but I liked the idea that it might be an option."

Finally Anna leaned against him.

"I envy Gwen that she had a choice. She took a chance, and had support to follow what she wanted. She wasn't trapped in a life she wouldn't have chosen for herself."

John let his left arm glide around her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. The best response he could make was to hold her, to sit with her watching the night intertwined with thoughts. His need to keep her safe grew.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

One morning in October, John awoke feeling different. He waited a minute before sitting up and realized he'd slept for more than four hours. He was partially covered by a blanket, his copy of Ovid's _Metamorphosis_ next to him, open. He felt refreshed. His dreams had not been tormented; he didn't even remember having any. He was not in any more pain than usual. He could get used to this.

John dressed in his best dark suit and blue tie. He had a pressing matter of business in the village. He had an appointment to speak with a solicitor and learn what he needed to do to divorce Vera. Even if he learned there were no grounds and even if the price was beyond him, he owed it to Anna to try. He owed it to himself.

As he sat down to breakfast, John looked at the faces around him. They were the same as usual, gossiping, grumbling, consumed by their own affairs. Anna entered, and he realized everyone knew and no one cared. He could tell by the way everyone looked at them, treated them. He and Anna had made no attempt to hide their delight in each other, and they seemed to have earned an unspoken approval by their refusal to sneak around, and their ability to behave like adults. John wondered what he was doing right.

John's appointment was for early afternoon. The man was the only legal mind in the village; most went to Ripon for those needs, but at this stage John just needed questions answered. The man was sympathetic to John's situation (he only mentioned the abandonment) but told John exactly what he already believed: he would need proof of adultery or a great deal more money than he had.

John decided not to tell Anna. She didn't know about his meeting, and he couldn't bear to tell her there was likely no hope. If ever he had news of Vera, or reason to hope he might be free of her, he would share it with Anna. He would not burden her with disappointment. He could not create false hope for her. He loved her too much.

Since Anna told him about her life before coming to Downton, John had become very careful to keep her from pain or disappointment. He was impressed at how she had dealt with such adversity and emerged such a strong woman. Lady. Lesser people would have been broken, given in, become resigned or bitter. Anna made the most of circumstances and grown. Her character was strong and wise, her spirit unbroken, practical, and he suspected deeply hedonistic.

On the way home, John stopped in at the little bookshop in the village. It wasn't a proper bookshop, not by his standards, but he tried to support it if he could. John browsed in poetry, but he didn't care for the Romantics. All birds and daffodils. The only novels in stock were Dickens, whom he loathed. The shopkeeper didn't seem to understand it was a new and exciting time for literature. John supposed the poor man did the best he could. Finally, as he was preparing to leave, John saw a small blue book with a gold cover. _The__Land__of__the__Blue__Flower_ by Frances Hodgson Burnet. Ten minutes later he'd read and purchased it. Anna deserved a gift.

He wondered about giving her a children's book, but John thought the story of love and peace and harmony combined with a pagan reverence for nature was perfect for her. It was in many ways symbolic of how he felt for her. She was his blue flower. He'd give it to her in the evening when they could be alone.

John wasn't sure what reaction he had expected, but what he got wasn't it. When Anna joined him, they smiled and sat in silence for a while before he told her he had something for her and slipped the book into her hands.

"I saw this in the village and it reminded me of you."

Anna read it. She sat for a minute looking at the sky.

"This is a lovely book, and fairy tales are my favorite. Thank you." She kissed him.

"But what you were up to in the village? I wasn't busy this afternoon, I could have walked with you."

John hadn't planned for that.

"I had business there." He knew that was weak as soon as he said it. He was looking at his hands and wondering he if dared tell her.

"Oh." Anna looked at her hands. "Mr. Bates, I know you don't want to burden me with your troubles, but they might be lighter if you thought of them as our troubles."

That hadn't occurred to him. Our troubles, but he couldn't bear to weigh her down with what really were his troubles.

"Sometimes things are easier if they are faced as a team."

John still hadn't answered.

"Mr. Bates, I won't press you for details on what you were doing; I respect you too much for that and it probably isn't any of my business, but I thought when we agreed to give love and happiness a chance, sharing and trusting was part of that. If you think you can silence me with gifts, you're wrong, though I do appreciate the book. And if you're not going to say anything, I'm going to bed."

She got up and walked away.

John panicked. It was over before it began. He stood and yelled her name. She stopped, stood still, and waited.

"Anna, please come back. I'm sorry. It does concern you."

Anna returned, but they remained standing. Her arms were crossed. John was leaning on his cane.

"I spoke with a solicitor about what I needed to do to divorce Vera."

Anna's eyes grew large. John could see the starlight in them.

"He said there was no hope without proof of adultery, or a great deal more money than I will ever have. I will never be free of Vera, and we will never have more than this. I couldn't bear to disappoint you, and I didn't tell you I was going because I didn't want to create false hope only to dash it."

It took Anna a minute to respond.

"Was that so hard?"

John smiled. Anna came to him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

When John commenced his employment at Downton, he expected church attendance to be if not compulsory, highly recommended. He was right. John hadn't been in a church since he was a boy. He was raised in the Catholic faith, learned some basic Latin, and had a strict mother. As a boy, John always felt depressed after church; he felt like he was missing something. He knew his Bible, he was active in the service, he just didn't feel anything. John told no one. They wouldn't understand. He thought perhaps there was something wrong with him. Once John was left to his own devices, he ceased attending services. He explored other religions, but a sense of the divine seemed always just out of reach.

John didn't find the church services at Downton as dispiriting as those of his youth. He'd read enough to know he was not alone in his feeling of emptiness in the face of organized religion, and he had spent enough time in self-reflection that he was able to enjoy the experience as a mental exercise. He didn't believe, nor did he disbelive; he lacked faith. It was a morally relativistic position, but it couldn't be helped. John always sat in the corner of a pew against the wall so he wouldn't be a hindrance during communion. He would attend church, he would stand up and sit down as directed, he would comport himself in a prayerful manner, but he would not take communion. He respected religion too highly to take part in such a symbolic ritual.

One Sunday in November, John was in his corner with Anna at his side. The lesson was something from Deuteronomy, and ordinarily John would have given the vicar his attention, but this morning his mind was otherwise engaged. The crisp fall air tended to stir his blood in ways the poets associated with spring.

Anna's hands were folded in her lap. Her eyes were fixed towards the front of the church. John wondered how devout she was. If she'd ever entertained doubt. If she'd be shocked. No one could see more than their backs; he took her hand in his. She kept her eyes focused forward. John removed his gloves. Temptation seized John. He slowly unbuttoned the buttons on the wrist of Anna's glove. He wanted to feel skin. Warm flesh. He slid a finger inside the glove. It was warm, soft, tight. Anna opened her mouth slightly, and her pink tongue peeked out, moistening her lower lip. He enclosed her small wrist with his thumb and remaining fingers, while sliding the one inside the glove as far back and forth as he could manage. Anna's eyes closed briefly. Her breathing quickened. Her fingers stretched and tried to curl around John's.

John wondered how much Anna knew. How curious had she and this farm hand been? Did she understand the physical side of love, the need, the urgency? Did she know what they were missing? John wasn't sure sometimes, considering how things had been with Vera and the couple of girls before her, that he knew. He glanced at Anna again, and knew she did know.

Was this a sin? In the eyes of this congregation? John had always found the doctrine of sin troubling. The definition struck him as arbitrary, and the need to ask forgiveness for things he did not regret or see as wrong hypocritical. How could a god of love and life condemn an act of love that affirmed life? Why was it called knowing in the Biblical sense if it was wrong? Shouldn't that make it right?

John saw Anna and himself in a wood, the ground strewn with fallen leaves. They were unclothed. He was covering her neck, her breast, her sides with open-mouthed kisses. He was covering her, she was covering him in turn. They were fast and slow at once. His hands and mouth sought the places that made her gasp and moan. Her people, for she was of the fey, experienced the divine by lying with together out of doors. How could something so natural, so right, and so beautiful be a sin? Would he find the divine there with her? Would she call him John as they rolled in the leaves?

It was time to pray. John carefully and quickly extracted his hand from Anna's glove. When he bowed his head, he thought not of the unknowable divine, but of Anna's grace and beauty and her trust and her love. John was thankful.

Anna turned her eyes to him as the service ended. She looked pale, her eyes were large and dark. John smiled.

"Lovely service, wasn't it?"

Anna agreed that it had been most enjoyable. They hung back from the others, taking their time on the path home. Sometimes his handicap was very convenient. John looked at Anna again, and suddenly all the lustful thoughts that plagued him during church were gone. He wanted to confide in her. He'd never told anyone and he didn't think he ever would, but he wanted to tell her he wasn't sure if it was all real. Was this what love was? Was this trust?

He started carefully.

"Anna, would it shock you if I told you I wasn't sure if there really is a God?"

He couldn't believe he'd said it out loud. He never had. Would she be offended? Shocked? Saddened that they couldn't spend eternity together?

"Shocked? No, Mr. Bates, that doesn't shock me at all. It doesn't surprise me either. It shocks me more that you're telling me." Her eyes twinkled.

"Me too, actually, something just possessed me." He smiled.

"Was it something in Africa? Or did you ever believe?"

Africa. Africa only confirmed his suspicions. He didn't want to muddle things by adding Africa to the mix. John looked at the ground.

"No, Africa only strengthened my doubts. I think I've always lacked faith. Sometimes I'd like to think it could all be real. The promise of eternity, forgiveness, peace, life, but it just seems like a story. We read the religions of other cultures as stories; what makes Christianity so special?"

John realized he was dangerously close to sounding bitter.

"As a boy, I was filled with ideas of sin and penance, and it all seemed like nonsense. Especially now, when what I want most is considered a sin, yet I feel no guilt or shame."

Anna looked at him intently.

"Then why don't you take what you want?"

She knew.

"Because while it can't be a sin, it is wrong for many other reasons. Some societal rules cannot be broken. There are worse consequences than damnation."

Their eyes met. Anna looked away first, fiddling with the clasp on her handbag. She steered them to safety. She swallowed and cleared her throat.

"I noticed when you first came here that your mind seems to be somewhere else during services."

John grinned.

"I think I realized you didn't believe when I saw you never took communion."

"I respect religion too much to make a mockery of it by participating in a ritual entirely meaningless for me. And wine doesn't tend to enhance my finer qualities."

John didn't want to tell her that one sip of wine would lead to more until all the work to not be a drunk was undone.

Anna had grown quiet. They were within sight of the house. John felt nervous again.

"Anna, I hope I haven't troubled you with this."

She looked up at him. Was that hurt in her eyes? Was it sadness?

"No, Mr. Bates, you haven't troubled me. I'm glad you've told me, I'm just sorry you can't have faith like I do. I don't know that I'm right, but it comforts me. There is something, I don't know, arrogant maybe, about certainty, isn't there?"

John felt warm all over. He felt lighter for having told her. Was this love? Trust, acceptance? Was this what it meant to be in love with?

"Sometimes, Anna, I think I'm very blessed."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

John suspected Anna would retaliate for the glove incident. It was only fair. He spent his nights by his window over his book wondering what she might do, how she might do it. John knew it wasn't fair to either of them to get Anna stirred up like that with no promise of resolution, but John was experimenting with being happy. It had been worth it just to hear her quick intake of breath, to see how her chest raised slightly, how her eyelids lowered. After John abandoned reading and lay on his bed, he would shut his eyes and remember the feel of her skin, how warm and how soft it had been against his rough thick finger. He remembered the way she responded, and wondered what it might be like, have been like, if they hadn't been in public, hadn't had so many layers, so many constraints.

Sometimes it was torture. It could never be. On these evenings, John felt almost worse than he did before the night on the steps of the temple. Other nights he remembered to be happy for what he had and to make the most of it. Having before only really experienced the physical manifestation of love, the intensity of the desire that came with shared love surprised him. He realized his marriage to Vera in many ways left him feeling the way he felt in the face of religion: something was missing. With Anna he had what he was missing. Was this was it meant to be in love with?

The night of the winter solstice was appropriately crisp. Snow had not fallen, but it was imminent. The sky had that bright grey look, and the air smelled of it. John loved the cool crispness on the air. He felt awake, alive.

John was waiting for Anna in the courtyard. They had not had any more after-hours meetings at the temple. John didn't want the temptation. If they were always fully clothed, Anna's body pinned and restrained by metal and bone and layers of cloth, if they were reasonably near the house, he was safe. It wasn't that John didn't trust himself to be a gentleman. He did. He just didn't need the frustration.

John was looking at the stars as Anna approached. She had a sweater and her shawl over her black dress. John didn't like her in black. It made her look sallow. Anna looked best in white and blue. At least she'd removed that maddening ruffle from her head. The whole evening black and white ensemble made her look small and sickly. She didn't walk so much as float. Did he detect a gleam in her eyes?

"Fancy a stroll, Mr. Bates?" A lilt to her voice?

"I'd never refuse a lady who has an unfathomable fondness for my company. Where to?"

Anna rolled her eyes and smiled. They walked slowly side by side, hands brushing, out of the courtyard and around a corner into a garden where the arched hedges were frosty. Anna led John to a bench near a path.

They sat in silence. Anna shivered and drew close, taking John's left hand and preventing him from wrapping his arms about her.

Anna slowly ran her fingers over his, lightly and briefly allowing them to intertwine before lifting his hand to her lips.

"Mr. Bates, I've been thinking."

She caressed his index finger with her lips. John sat up a little taller. How was it that everything about her was so soft and so warm?

"Oh? Dangerous habit, thinking." John inhaled as her teeth grazed his fingertip, her tongue lightly bouncing off the end as Anna moved to his next finger.

"It certainly can be." Their eyes met. John closed his eyes as he felt his middle finger disappear into her mouth. Anna flicked her tongue along the underside before slowly releasing it.

"May I…ask…what you were thinking?"

Anna twirled her tongue along John's third finger before responding.

"I was thinking two things, actually. The first was that if this is all we're likely to ever have, we should really make the most of it."

John exhaled. He was finding focusing rather a challenge.

"That's an intriguing concept, and very hard to argue with."

Anna made a small noise in agreement, as her mouth was engaged with John's pinky. It fit perfectly with plenty of room for her tongue to roam all over it. John swallowed hard. He was glad he wouldn't need to walk anywhere for a bit.

"What else were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that turn about's fair play." She raised her eyebrows and grinned wickedly as John's thumb was slowly engulfed by her warm mouth. She bit slightly before slowly releasing it, and John stifled a groan.

Where had she learned this? How did she know? How much did she know? Had she ever? Would she? Could he dream of suggesting? How curious had she and that farm hand been?

"I can't say I'd argue with that either." John pulled her onto his lap. The force of Anna's kiss sent him backwards nearly in the frozen hedge. John righted them and settled her more solidly across his knees, one hand firmly at her waist, between the sweater and her dress, the other on the ankle that was threatening to pass her leg and join them on the bench. Anna's hands were everywhere at once.

As John felt her breasts press into his chest, it occurred to him that he might undo a button or two. Or three. No, it was too cold for that. But the warmth they were creating and his mouth would prevent the soft tender skin from getting frostbite. If he slid his hand up a few inches he could feel the back of her knee. A few more and he might find the top of her stocking. He wondered if it was held in place by a button or a tie or one of those garter belt contraptions, and if he could find and release it sight unseen. No, he should not fumble with Anna's underthings. Yes, he should. He needed to feel something other than cloth and wool. Warmth and flesh. Her tongue was making the skin along his jaw sticky. His teeth were running along her ear. He needed to….

Stop. He heard a cough followed by steps crossing the crisp ground. A human sound, not the sound of a night creature. John would not be found fumbling with Anna in the gardens, with his hands up her dress. Not being found in that position was how they still had jobs. They were trusted responsible adults. Responsible trusted adults.

Anna had heard it too, slid off John's lap, smoothed her dress, and sat next to him, close but not touching, though she made no effort to restore her hair, and their red, swollen lips betrayed their activities to Mr. Branson. Mr. Branson didn't seem too surprised to see them, as he looked from one to the other. He made a comment about the pleasant night, and raised an eyebrow, saying he hoped he wasn't interrupting anything, and bid them goodnight without waiting for an answer.

John and Anna collapsed against each other in relieved laughter. Mr. Branson knew, but he was perfectly safe. John wasn't so much concerned with getting caught, he was concerned with what it would mean for Anna if they got caught. He knew he wouldn't be lectured like an out of control adolescent groping a maid behind the barn, but then, he shouldn't behave like one. John felt darkness descend. The magical mood was broken.

"Anna, why did you run away that night last spring? The night I first wanted to kiss you?"

Anna looked at the ground, and pressed against John. He wrapped her shawl around her and drew her under his arm.

"I smelled a cigarette right before the crash. It was Thomas or Miss O'Brien. I didn't want our first kiss to be like that, stolen in the yard with one of them prowling about looking for reasons to speak ill of you."

"Thank you." John grinned. "But what if we do get caught? Everyone knows, but no one cares because they have no evidence. What if it hadn't been Mr. Branson? I will not sneak around or hide my love for you, nor will I compromise your reputation and employment."

Anna sighed. "What was that you said about thinking being dangerous? Sometimes, Mr. Bates, I think you think too much." Anna stood up, grinned, and led John back to the house.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

John noticed Anna hadn't received gifts from her family the previous Christmases, and now that he knew why, he wanted to make up for it. He knew he was going to give her jewelry, but once he got to Ripon, he couldn't decide between the cameo set in filigree with seed pearls or the locket with flowers engraved on the cover. Lest he make the wrong choice, he went to the bookshop to clear his head. Ripon had a proper bookshop. He spent an hour browsing the newest titles and left with two volumes by D. H. Lawrence: _Sons__and_ _Lovers_ and _Love__Poems__and__others_. Upon returning to the jeweler's, John selected the cameo. He liked the delicacy of the setting, and thought the soft pink would be radiant against Anna's skin.

John wrapped the cameo in the piece of lace his mother had made for Anna and wrapped that with an ornate volume of Petrarch's Sonnets. He had intended to give her the Lawrence poems, but once he actually read them, he realized they were among the most dispiriting love poems he'd ever read.

They met late on Christmas Eve or early Christmas morning in the servants hall. The snow was too heavy for the yard, but they waited late enough that everyone else was in bed. Anna came in her nightgown and sweater, which was gift enough for John. They hadn't seen each other much during the day as the family was busy preparing for parties and Anna was bustling between doing hair and helping with decorations in the house. She looked very tired, and John momentarily felt guilty about keeping her up. All guilt vanished when she smiled and put her arms around his neck. As he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him, he hit a spot of tension on her spine. It cracked, and as Anna's knees gave out she collapsed against him. The feeling of her wilted body pressed against him was delicious. She was so delicate but so solid. Anna sighed and looked relieved as she looked up at him. John ran his hands along her back and kissed her head before placing her on a chair.

"That sounded like it felt good."

"It did. My corset always digs on these long days."

"I can think of a couple of cures for tight corsets." John grinned devilishly. He placed his package in front of her before his mind turned too far in a different direction. Anna had a small package for him as well. John felt a childlike joy well up in his chest when he saw her gift to him. He hadn't expected anything.

John opened his first. _Walden_ _or__Life__in__the__Woods._ He knew Thoreau, but hadn't read much of his work. Anna always managed to surprise him. She was smiling at him.

"Anna, this is wonderful." John smiled.

"I was re-reading it, and it reminded me of you."

His eyes met hers. "You've given me so much." He felt his voice softening and lowering. Anna's smile grew. She seemed to melt into her chair. John began to flip idly through the pages. A passage was underlined. Live so that when it came time to die, it could not be discovered the dying had not lived. Inside the cover she'd written _December__25__1914,__Yours__always,__Anna_. Anna was gift. Such an expected, wonderful gift. Suck the marrow out of life. John promised himself he would try, for her sake, for his sake.

"Your turn."

Anna's eyes grew as she undid the paper.

"Mr. Bates…it's all…so…beautiful….and wonderful."

John smiled. "Perfect. I had hoped to return to you some of the beauty you've brought to me. And my mother made the lace for you."

Anna didn't respond. She was running her fingers over the cameo, as if afraid to pick it up. The carving was a half-profile of a young woman with a rose in her hair. The hair's bright tresses, full of golden glows…

"I've never…it's so beautiful." John was struck by the wonder in her voice.

"If I have my way, you will only ever have beautiful things."

Anna smiled again. The soft lightning of the angelic smile…

"And there is not a poem in there that does not remind me of you."

John picked up the brooch.

"I'd like to see this on, if you don't mind."

John unhooked the clasp as Anna leaned towards him. He put his left hand beneath the left side of her open sweater so the pin wouldn't stick her through her thin nightgown. There was the hint of shoulder, the neck, the collar bone. Anna caught her breath as his knuckles gently grazed her breast. She looked down to watch his fingers secure the clasp. It took only seconds, but it seemed like time had stopped. John felt the underside of her breast swell slightly, the nipple harden as he lightly passed over it. Anna's mouth was slightly open. John met her eyes. Perhaps his fingers lingered longer than necessary, but this was an idea he dearly wanted to pursue. But not there, not then.

John swallowed hard and withdrew his hand. He pulled the sides of her sweater together and smiled.

"Even more beautiful." He whispered.

Anna looked down again. She lightly touched the border of the brooch, about where John's fingers had just been.

"I think we should get to bed. We've another long today tomorrow."

They stood. Anna put her hands in his and looked up at him. John smiled and sighed. Those eyes, beneath which my passionate rapture rose…

He kissed her lips softly, gently. "Sleep well, Anna."

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Bates."

Was Anna the marrow of life?

(Things sounding poetic are either from _Walden_, Henry David Thoreau, or _Gli__occhi_ _di__ch__'__io__parlai_, Francesca Petrarca, my translation.)


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

John stood in the corner of the ballroom watching the dancing. The New Years ball was on a smaller scale this year, but still it carried on. Just another way to show the Germans, or so Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson said. John wasn't entirely sure what they were supposed to be showing the Germans, but it was an excuse to dress up and see Anna enjoy herself.

Anna looked radiant. She was in blue, something that had perhaps belonged to one of the young ladies, dark and shining, with her new brooch pinned to her throat and her hair in a different style than usual. John's eyes followed her everywhere. She never wanted for partners. Men were scarce: Mr. Crawley was away, having recently left for duty, as had most of the staff. The neighboring young men had not turned up for the evening as they had in the past. The dancing men consisted of Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson, Mr. Branson, Mr. Molesley, William, and some men from the gardens and stables John didn't know.

Before his injury, John had been a fine dancer. His height and natural ease with his body made him a sought after partner, especially during the early days of his military career. John loved the feeling of a woman in his arms, guiding her around the room, touching her but barely, eyes only for each other until the music stopped. When he and his mother and brother returned to Ireland after his father's death, he rarely missed a ceiledh at his uncle's pub. John was the only dancer in the family, and the only one who wasn't musical. His brother played whistle, his uncle played flute, and his mother was expert in mouth music and she knew all the old ballads. She maintained they were strictly Irish, no matter how many times or how many people told her the same songs existed in bloodier versions in Scotland and sadder versions in the Appalachian Mountains of America. Perhaps she was right. The old songs did seem somehow uniquely Irish to John in their fixation on faery lovers and loss and mysterious women.

John's favorite dance of all was the reel. High energy, a little rough, and with the variety of dancing with all the women between returning to the familiarity of his partner. A night of dancing at the pub was young John's best evening. His favorite tune was _The__Wind__that_ _Shakes__the__Barley_. As the whiskey flowed, his uncle's band would play faster and faster until the dancers all but collapsed in a heap when the music suddenly stopped, like the wind on a stormy summer's day.

Tonight's dancing was much more polite. More elegant. It was just as well: John didn't want Anna to be partnered with anyone but him for anything that might turn rambunctious. She was dancing with Mr. Molesley now. John took a few steps forward, his eyes never moving from them. Mr. Molesley looked nervous. Good. Anna was looking indulgent. She was too kind. Every time she passed John, he caught her eye and smiled or looked sternly at Mr. Molesley's back. Anna choked back a laugh and Mr. Molesley looked even more dour than usual. Had he figured it out yet? Had he discerned who this mysterious and keen admirer was? He would before the night was out, of that John was certain.

Anna's next partner was Mr. Branson. He was safe. John could freshen his drink and mingle. He found himself standing next to Miss O'Brien. John had hoped the festive spirit would inhabit her, preventing her natural personality from manifesting, but it was too much to ask. If anything, a room of carefree celebration mixed with mulled wine enhanced her sourness. No one had asked her to dance except an elderly stableman who couldn't quite rid himself of the distinct odor of his profession, and the Earl, out of sympathy. Tonight her venom was against the young women, especially Anna. She commented that Anna was looking perky. That she had a new piece of jewelry that looked right nice. That she must have a fancy man. That it would all come to nothing. John looked at Miss O'Brien and said it was no wonder a beautiful woman would have beautiful things, and if she indeed had a gentleman, he was the luckiest man in the world. He smiled and walked away. John needed to claim a partner for the final dance of the evening.

Anna smiled as John met her eyes. He leaned his cane against a chair and slowly, as gracefully as he could manage, made his way to her.

"I was hoping I might claim a dance."

Anna was surprised. John took her hand to his lips. That was safe in ballroom.

"Oh, yes, but…I thought…"

"You thought that I didn't dance. I thought I'd make an exception, and I promise I'll try not to fall on you."

They grinned at each other. John was sure the room was staring at them. He felt they were giving off light.

John didn't trust himself to manage anything with elaborate footwork, but he had not lost the ability to hold himself and his partner elegantly. Effortless gliding across the floor was not an option, but he could hold her in his arms and look into her eyes and move with her gently. They could smile together. They could talk softly. They moved to a discreet edge of the room, in case, and managed a slow box step.

"I think Miss O'Brien is jealous." John wondered if he was leaning too close. This dress showed more of her neck and than he was accustomed to seeing in public. The cut of the bodice flattered her small bustline and her trim waist. She fit so perfectly in his hands. He could never touch her enough.

"Oh? Jealous of whom?" Anna looked up at him, the corner of her mouth smiling. John's heart skipped a beat.

"She seems to think you have what she calls a fancy man." He could rest his chin on top of her head.

"I wonder what makes her think that."

John raised his eyebrows as he looked down at Anna.

"I can't imagine." The smile consumed both of them. Were people looking? Did they know? Did he care?

It was very late, and Anna's eyes were shiny. John wanted to stop moving and wrap his arms about her and hold her there against him. Her hair was starting to fall from the low, loose arrangement she'd chosen for the evening. He liked it; the golden strands caught the candle light and he liked seeing it uncovered and in something other than the severe bun. He was vexed that Anna was slightly disheveled and he had nothing to do with it. He was frustrated that this may be as disheveled as he would ever see her and it might never be because of him. A curl had fall below her ear. John released her hand long enough to smooth it back into place. His finger traced behind and below her ear and along her neck and shoulder before he returned his hand to hers. Anna's eyes never left his. Make the best of what they had. She sighed quietly. John was afraid his knees were weakening. Did they know? Did they care? Did he dare?

As the music began to slow, as the new year came in, John leaned forward and kissed her. Slowly, softly, not so passionately as to cause alarm but passionately enough to leave no doubt as to the nature of their relationship. They did not embrace. They were barely touching. The kiss was relaxed and profound rather than deep and searching. It was as if they were sighing together. When the music stopped and the dancers began clapping, John gently pulled away. They couldn't stop smiling, and he wanted nothing more than to lean in again and pull Anna towards him. He felt eyes on them. Everyone knew. What had he done? Did anyone care? Did Anna care? What would the new year bring?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Discipline had been a stable, comforting force in John's life as long as he could remember. As a boy, he had quickly learned the importance of discipline in school and at home. Usually, John had been very good about finishing his schoolwork and chores before reading away the evening. He remembered when he was twelve, and just starting to enjoy King Arthur. He had acquired Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, and it was far more engaging than the algebra his teacher had assigned. One day when he got home from school, he thought he would just read a chapter to fortify himself before tackling his assignment. One chapter turned into three, three into six. He was called for supper. He didn't appear. He didn't do his evening chores. He stayed up until he had finished the book. His mother said nothing. She didn't need to. The next day at school, he fell asleep in the first lesson and failed an exam in history. He was told off for not having finished his algebra. When John returned home, he went straight to work. His mother hadn't had to say anything. Lack of discipline had consequences.

John kept that same copy of _Morte d'Arthur_ with him in the military and at Downton. When he was old enough to reflect on the themes beyond knighthood, he saw it was rife with stories on paying consequences for an undisciplined life. Launcelot and Guinevere. Tristan and Isolde. Merlin and Vivian. As a boy, John had loved Sir Launcelot for his fearlessness, his nobility, his loyalty. As a man, John saw the deep hypocrisy of Sir Launcelot, and his helplessness in the face of an all-consuming passion.

Discipline drew John to a career in the military. He knew he was smarter than most of his commanders, he knew what they were usually doing was pointless, senseless, but he knew it was imperative to maintain order and discipline at all times. Consequences in the Army were usually physical, as John learned when he was newly enlisted and tended to stay out too late drinking and get up too late from reading. It took discipline to not tell his commanders how asinine their plans were. It took discipline to not hurt Vera in the bad days of their marriage. Without discipline, John would not have survived this long without alcohol. Without discipline, John would not have managed to not kiss Anna every chance he had.

John had been undisciplined at the ball. He must accept the consequences. He hadn't meant to kiss Anna. Dancing, to the extent he could, had been a way he could hold her in his arms publically without censure. Kissing her had been a natural consequence.

The consequences would fall on Anna. John didn't think he would be spoken to about controlling himself, about his intentions, his indiscretion. He was old enough to be beyond that sort of conversation, and his relationship with the Earl really put him above that sort of thing. John didn't like special treatment, he didn't like to use his connections or relationship with the Earl to his benefit, but that was simply how it was.

John was acutely aware that Anna's situation was different. Maids were maids. Machines. No matter what age, what position, maids would be scolded like children, or worse. Maidens were to be kept in state of blissful and perpetual ignorance of men. Maids were maidens. Maids were neither ladies nor women.

The first morning of the new year, both John and Anna were nervous at breakfast. John wanted to reach under the table and take Anna's hand, or maybe run his fingers along her thigh as he sometimes did, but it didn't seem like a good idea. The conversation was about how lovely the party had been. John had nothing to add. Anna had been lovely. Mr. Branson grinned at winked at them. Miss O'Brien, an eyebrow cocked, was eyeing them over her teacup. John expected something from her, but since Thomas had left she had been rather subdued. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes kept looking at them.

The day passed, and nothing happened. John kept his distance from Anna as best he could. He tried not to run into her during the day or find her after dinner. He did see her disappear into Mrs. Hughes's sitting room for a time, but when she emerged, she did not seem to have been taken to task for encouraging a lover.

A week passed. Nothing happened. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes seemed to be spending more time looking at them thoughtfully during meals. Miss O'Brien perhaps smirked more. Nothing was said, or done. Had they not noticed? Could John be so lucky? That wasn't possible. This could only mean the consequences for his action would be in proportion to his transgression. Harsh and severe. He began to avoid Anna as much as possible, just until this blew over. He would not taint her anymore than he already had. She would understand. It would be forgotten soon.

One morning in the second week of January, while John and the Earl were discussing the potential roles the Earl might take in the war, it happened. The Earl was actually going to speak to him about controlling himself with the maids. This was intolerable.

When John and the Earl served together in Africa, they shared every horrific experience. Hand to hand combat. Illness. Tainted water. Slaughtered children. Pointless fighting. Friends dying. Friends deserting. Death camps. Decisions that would lead to the certain death of men they knew. Knowing the men on the other side weren't that different from them. John dealt with the pain and nightmares with alcohol. The Earl found comfort in the arms of women.

John did not judge him for this. John would never reveal it. War brought out the dark side in almost everyone, and if it helped the Earl to block the horrors of his days, what could John possibly say. It was, in its way, no different from John drinking himself senseless every night. He would not, however, be subjected to a lecture from this man on appropriateness and discretion with women. John had no tolerance for hypocrisy: He would certainly never subject anyone to a temperance lecture. John was not a randy boy just discovering girls or a lost, simple man seeking solace and oblivion. He was in love, and he would not hide it. He would not be forced into a situation which required him to sneak around with Anna and would almost certainly lead to their destruction.

The Earl stood up, and moved to the window. He fiddled nervously with the sash. Silence. He tried to start. More silence. Something had come to his attention….Mr. Carson had asked that he….If it were up to him….Horribly awkward….Heaven knows he didn't care….Told Carson he was the most decent and honorable man he knew…Both such steady and responsible people….After all they'd been through….

John saved him. He asked if His Lordship meant something regarding himself and Anna. The Earl looked wary and relieved. John said he needn't worry; no further improprieties would take place. His intentions were entirely suitable to their respective situations, and he hoped that that was an end of it. He was trying to find and resolve matters with his wife, and Anna was aware of that. The Earl called him "old chap" and said Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had approached him, cautioning him that Anna's honor was at stake. The Earl had strongly suggested they stand down, as Bates was his old friend and was incapable of anything other than strict discipline and high standards of discretion and honor at all times. He had agreed to mention the matter if they agreed to look past it. He owed Bates more than he could ever tell them. John assured the Earl of his discretion, and appreciation. As John excused himself to leave, the Earl smiled and suggested a few places in the grounds John might find suitably discreet and reminded him that happiness wasn't a crime.

John wasn't sure about this. No apparent consequences. Suggested trysting locations on the grounds. That might not be the best idea.

John didn't see Anna until tea. She was pale and had little to say. John noticed Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes looking at them and then at each other. Eventually everyone left the table, leaving Anna and John alone. John was just reaching for her hand when she got up and left the room, without a word.

John knew he was expected to follow her. He found her in the laundry room, ironing a dress for Lady Sybil. Luckily he needed to collect some of the Earl's socks. Anna's jaw was clenched, and that infernal crease in her forehead was hard set. How could he possibly explain that he'd neglected her because her loved her? Would she understand that he was trying to save her from any unpleasantness?

"Anna, I…"

She didn't look up.

"Are you sure you should be in here? Shouldn't you open the door?"

"What? Why?"

"If you're in here with me with the door shut, the others will talk."

Anna's voice was flat, icy, sharp and fast.

"Damn the others. That's why I'm in here. I was afraid of talk after the ball."

She raised her head, but didn't look at him.

"What did I tell you about being afraid?"

John smiled.

"I'm sorry. I knew there would be consequences, and I wanted them all to fall on me. His Lordship told me he doesn't care though, so long as we're discreet."

Anna put down the iron and looked at him. John felt cold and hot all at once.

"So that makes it alright? How do you know consequences didn't fall on me?"

"No, I don't need his approval for anything, but you never said…."

"You made it awfully bloody hard for me to tell you anything, didn't you?"

Anna's words hissed and cut the humid air in the little room.

John reflected that he should have learned by now that women were never as easy to figure out as he hoped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize…what happened?"

John saw a tear. Anna inhaled deeply. John hated her in that black dress.

"Every time I see Miss O'Brien she smirks and mentions my fancyman. In the hall, in the stairs, in the bathroom. She tells me nothing will last. Lady Mary raised her eyebrow at me in the mirror yesterday. Lady Edith mentioned lameness! Mrs. Hughes…Mrs. Hughes summoned me to her parlor to caution me about my virtue and to make sure I knew where babies come from! And there was nothing I could say! How could I tell her how much we love each other and that nothing like that has happened when you when you were…when you were….And why should I even have to explain myself to her? I am not a child! I know exactly what I'm doing and what might happen. Some groom I've never met leered at me in the yard last week and tried to touch me. And you left me to face that alone! You made me look like a common slut!"

John shut his eyes. She was right. He had made it worse by distancing himself.

"Every time I tried to find you, to talk to you, you weren't there. With everything being said, I couldn't very well go asking for you or following you. And I'm not going to sneak around! We weren't before and I don't see why we should have to now! If we're going to be together, whatever that might mean, we have to make decisions together."

At least now there was some color on her cheeks and light in her eyes. She had such fire, such passion. John didn't mind in the least having it unleashed on him. He deserved so much worse, her anger was in a way a delight. He thrilled a little to wonder what it might be like if any other of her passions were unleashed on him.

"Anna, I'm so sorry. I thought only of you. If I had known when I kissed you that night that it would turn out this way, I wouldn't have. I was trying to protect you, and I failed. I was so afraid that situations or reputations were at stake, and I thought if we kept apart for a while, it might blow over. I thought you would understand. Can you forgive me?"

"What did I tell you about being afraid?"

John smiled.

"Sometimes love makes fools of men."

"And don't I get a say in this? What gives you the right to make decisions about my reputation without asking me, without telling me what's going on? And are you saying you regret kissing me?"

She was crying in earnest now. It scared him, mixed with rage as it was. He wanted to take her in his arms and let her have it out against his chest, but they weren't to that point yet. More was coming.

"No. My only regret is my poorly-considered behavior since. I maintain that you deserve better than me, but if you'll let me make up for this mistake I promise to do better. I only thought of protecting you. I'm ashamed at how badly I've failed."

"I can look after myself quite well."

John smiled and sighed.

"I never said you couldn't. But it is something I desperately want to do. Keep you safe from evil and harm. I'm so sorry for not considering you."

John reached for his handkerchief and offered it to her. Anna ignored the handkerchief and buried her face in his shirt. John sighed, kissed her head, smoothed her back, rocked a little as her tears finally stilled against his chest. It struck him that more might be behind this. Anna really wasn't the hysterical type.

"Anna, is anything else bothering you?"

She turned her face so she could talk.

"Well, I guessed you were trying to protect me, but it made me so mad that you didn't tell me what was happening, and I don't have anyone here to talk to, it just festered and grew."

Anna needed a confidant, especially if he was going to be part of her life.

"Have you heard from Gwen lately? Maybe you could go see her on your next half-day, or meet for tea on Sunday."

Anna sniffed.

"No, Gwen hasn't answered my last letter. Her response to the one before that was short. I knew we couldn't continue as friends for long after she left. Other girls who have left and I have tried writing, and it never lasts."

"Is there anyone else you could visit? A change of scenery, a friend you can tell all about me? Someone who will help you tear apart my many faults?"

John grinned into her hair. She smelled like roses and Lady Mary's perfume and iron steam.

"No. I like some of the girls in the village, but I wouldn't tell them about you, and I certainly wouldn't share you with my sister in law."

No, Anna was too proud to tell anyone other than the dearest of friends she was involved with an older married man who made glaring mistakes.

John heard footsteps approaching. They sounded like Miss O'Brien's. Anna moved as if to pull away, but John held her close. He would never let her go. Let Miss O'Brien see them like this. This was not an impropriety. This was love, and there was nothing to hide.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

John rolled over and groaned. His leg was throbbing. The cold damp weather always made it ache, and now that his evenings were largely spent out of doors, the ache had set in deeply and not abated.

John put his arms over his head and grabbed the headboard, arching his back off the bed and stretching. He groaned again as everything snapped into place. He had not been comfortable in days. He had spent the first part of the night in his chair with his bad leg propped up on a pillow on the bed, reading Rousseau. Around two, he abandoned that and moved to the bed, first smearing his leg with the muscle rub his mother had sent and wrapping it in flannel to protect the sheets. He felt cold, and wore a shirt to bed for a change. He was glad of the extra bed in his room, and used the pillows under his back and leg. He switched books. He needed something lighter. He opted for Arthur Conan Doyle. He read until the candle burned out.

When John realized it was time to start the day, he wasn't sure if he'd actually been to sleep. John wasn't a big sleeper, but usually he managed at least a few hours' light doze. Not with this pain that started at the wound in his thigh and radiated to his toes and back.

The day dawned grey and wet, with a wind. The perfect February morning. It was going to be a long day. He had told Anna he would walk to the village with her in the afternoon for errands. All he wanted was to stay in all day and try to stay warm. The face that looked at John from the mirror as he shaved was old and lined. He could tell Anna he didn't want to go, that he couldn't walk that far in the cold, that his leg hurt so much all he wanted to do was stay hidden in his bed and drink. Anna would understand.

John's leg protested as he attempted to put on his trousers. The lineament smelled pleasant and felt warm, but was so greasy it would ruin the fabric, so he'd wrapped his leg in more flannel. Anna would see him for the crippled old man he was if he told her how the cold affected him.

John was the last one down for breakfast. Anna looked worried. John smiled at her. He hoped it masked the strain he felt. Hot tea would help. Being near Anna would help. John brushed his leg against the table as he lowered himself into his chair and gasped. Anna looked worried. He smiled again. Anna mustn't worry.

John dragged himself to his feet when the Earl's bell rang. Mrs. Hughes looked concerned. John smiled. He cut her off by saying he'd slept on it wrong and would be fine when she started to ask if he was alright. It was going to be a long day.

Somehow John got through the morning. He only half heard what the Earl said to him, and hoped he agreed at the right places. John suspected he was a little curt with him, but he could tell from the look on the Earl's face that he knew his leg was bothering him and daren't say a thing. While they sometimes spoke of their time in Africa, they never spoke of the events that led to John's injury. John preferred not to speak of it at all, and was grateful the Earl never brought it up. He thought he might have been impatient with Daisy when she dashed in front of him on her way to the kitchen, nearly knocking into him with a pan of water. John put his back against the wall and closed his eyes. This dull ache that permeated his body was worse than any pain he'd felt when he was injured. Drinking was the best pain relief he knew. He was concerned his temper would show itself if he was too near Mr. Carson or William, both of whom insisted on engaging John in conversation about the war as they counted wine bottles and decanted what was to be used later. He almost wished Thomas back. Mrs. Hughes was best avoided too. She insisted he needed rest. He should be sitting with his leg elevated. She was right. John spent most of the time before luncheon standing in the Earl's dressing room, brushing coats.

John wasn't entirely sure what the purpose of this afternoon's walk to the village was, other than an excuse to be together away from the house. He didn't want to go, but he couldn't stay in. After luncheon he wrapped his neck in his thickest scarf, slowly put on his coat hat and gloves and waited near the door while Anna gathered her things. John looked out the window and pulled his coat tight around his chest. The sky was grey streaked with grey. It was wet. Not properly raining, but not snowing either. Just wet. And windy. And he was walking to town.

Finally Anna appeared. She'd changed her dress. John suspected she'd added warm layers beneath it, covering the flimsy undergarments he imagined with something more substantial. Not that he would ever know. He smiled and picked up his umbrella as he ushered Anna through the door.

John steeled himself against the shock of the cold. It hadn't been this way before prison. After the initial pain of the injury and surgery subsided, his injury hadn't bothered him much. Considering how much he drank, he wasn't sure if he had ever felt pain. Warmth and comfort were not priorities in prison, and the shrapnel that had been left in his thigh moved. When the alcohol left his system, he discovered real pain. Combined with the perpetual damp, rheumatism had set in in earnest.

John became aware that Anna was talking. He had no idea what she was saying. He agreed with whatever it was. He smiled at her. They still had two miles to go. What was she saying? She looked beautiful. Happy. Young. The cold made John hold himself tensely, as if it would help against the pain. Anna looked at him. He should say something. He agreed with her, whatever she had said was brilliant.

"Mr. Bates, would you like to go home?"

John was startled.

"No. Of course not. I want to be here, with you."

Anna smiled.

"Are you sure?"

John hesitated. He collected himself. He mustn't be short with her.

"How can you ask?"

"Well, I wouldn't, but I don't think you've heard one thing I've said since we left."

At least she didn't say he was moving more slowly than usual.

"I…didn't you just…of course I'm listening…."

They stopped. Anna's basket was swinging on her arm. John realized even if he wasn't carrying an umbrella and she wasn't carrying a basket, he wouldn't be able to take her arm as they walked. He couldn't balance properly with Anna on one side while leaning on his cane.

"You just agreed that William was the cleverest boy you knew and likely be prime minister if he manages not to get killed in France, if he's ever called up."

"Oh…I…no, obviously that won't happen."

John smiled weakly. Anna had a gleam in her eyes. She turned and started walking again, a little ahead.

"Let's get going. We've a great many errands."

John kept up, thankful that Anna had abandoned talking. She moved so easily, so elegantly, so effortlessly. Even in her warm layers, her figure was so dainty, so perfectly formed for his hands. The wind picked up. Never had John known such wretched weather. In London the elements were less pronounced. They were in the post office. He had heard about places, especially in the American west, that had something called dry heat. That sounded delightful. He hadn't been this cold since leaving prison. Now they were in a shop were Anna was purchasing mysterious jarred items. Perhaps this was the source of her array of floral scents. When he drank, he felt warm and the pain disappeared. Now they were in a shop that reminded him of his father's general store. Anna was selecting some millinery items for herself and Daisy. John was trying to look patient and attentive. Why did these things always take so long? The pub was just across the road.

They were back outside. The renewed shock of the icy air brought John back to his senses. One whisky wouldn't hurt at all, but he knew it wouldn't be just one. It would be two then three then six then ten then he wouldn't feel or remember a thing. He couldn't do that to Anna. She deserved better. He wouldn't do that to himself. He deserved better.

Anna's shopping was complete. John decided they should visit the little bookshop. It wouldn't have anything, but considering they'd been to all the other shops in the village, it seemed wrong to pass it without stopping. The proprietor was happy to see them, and immediately pointed out a new set of Walter Scott's Waverly novels. John grimaced. Scott was like a dull Dickens. John headed for the poetry. Anna picked up a copy of _The_ _Bride of Lammermoor_. He had to stop her.

"Life is too short to read books like that."

He was behind her, breathing into her neck. His lips were brushing her ear. She leaned into him. He almost forgot the pain.

"Oh? Why? It looks exciting."

"It sounds much better than it is. A hundred pages in I realized I suddenly didn't know who the characters were or what they were doing, the plot had changed, and then the bride goes mad and stabs her husband on their wedding night. Of course I was drinking when I read it, but I've since tried to slog through _Kenilworth_ and it was just as bad. Tawdry stuff."

Anna put it down, and John sighed with relief. The poetry section was still primarily Wordsworth and Shelley and Tennyson, but Anna unearthed a battered copy of _Leaves of_ _Grass_. John read over her shoulder. _Souls of men and women_. _Come closer to me_. It was about nature, and America, and workers' rights and the body and the body's rights. _I do not thank you for liking me as I am, and liking the touch of me—I know it is good for you to do so_.1 Anna was leaning against him again. He barely felt his leg. He felt so warm. He didn't have a free arm to wrap around her waist. The book joined the purchases in Anna's basket.

John was achy and cold again as soon as they were outside. Anna had turned pensive. They had a few hours before they needed to be back at the house. John wondered. Anna suddenly suggested they stop at the pub. Now there was an idea. He could silence his leg with a few drinks. The pub rented rooms. Quiet, private rooms with large soft beds. John ushered Anna through the door, and looked into her eyes. He swallowed hard. He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't do that to himself. He found himself seated across from her in the dining room, ordering tea.

Anna was very quiet. John took her gloved hand. He stretched his leg out under the table as far as he could. He was too tall for the chair.

"Anna, I want to thank you for something."

Her eyes fluttered to him.

"Actually, a few things. I've been something of a trial today, and you've been more than tolerant. You've kept me from succumbing to temptation, and you haven't once mentioned how slowly I'm moving. You are a dear and wonderful woman, and I can't imagine what I've done to deserve you, but I intend to keep you. Thank you."

Anna's face slowly melted into a grin. John removed her gloved, remembering that day in church, and kissed her hand. This was what he wanted. The tea arrived.

"Mr. Bates, I learned soon after we met never to mention your leg. I know when it is bothering you. You get short tempered and distracted and grumpy. I wish you wouldn't insist on confusing sympathy with pity, but you are determined to. There's nothing for it but to act like you're fine until you admit you're not. In fact, I rarely even think about your leg until you call attention to it by pretending nothing is wrong."

John stirred his tea. He looked at the table. It was bare wood, and reasonably clean.

"When I was injured, it was said I might not walk again, so I was determined that I would. When I did, everyone I encountered, even people I knew before the war, treated me differently. No one knew better than I that I was less able. And for some reason, many act like it was my fault. I managed well enough without a cane until I was released from prison, but the cold and perpetual damp had done more damage."

Anna looked at him.

"What happened? You can tell me."

John looked at her. He felt so cold. He could tell her. He opened his mouth. The enemy shot at him and didn't miss. He looked out the window. No one was in the street. He heard not wind but birds. The enemy shot at Lord Grantham and hit him. Gunfire. Explosions. Screaming. He smelled not wood smoke and baking and beer but blood and sweat and excrement. The enemy shot in their direction and he threw himself on top of Lord Grantham and three other men. His leg was throbbing. Men were screaming. He couldn't see anything but darkness. He was wounded in the service of his queen and country. He felt nothing. Silence. Screaming.

"I..I bought a limp corrector soon after His Lordship dismissed me. I had put him in a difficult situation, and I was sick of Thomas's jibes and I knew I was making more work for William."

Anna looked confused.

"It didn't work. In fact, it made the pain worse and my leg more grotesque. Before I had a scar on my thigh. Now my leg is truly disfigured. Mrs. Hughes caught me out, and made me throw it into the pond and promise never to try to heal myself again."

"I'm so sorry you felt you had to fix yourself. Your leg is part of who you are though."

John smiled grimly.

"Yes, it is."

"No, I mean, I wish you hadn't been injured, but if you hadn't been, if you hadn't struggled with it, you wouldn't be the man you are today. Just like if you hadn't struggled with drink."

She met his eye as she took a sip of tea.

"Did you really want to drink today?"

John exhaled. How was she so wise?

"I did only in that it is the best pain relief I've ever known. I didn't in that I know one drink would undo all I've worked for. I stopped drinking when I went to prison, and I will never do either again. I just felt so bad, and so cold, and so miserable that the warmth and oblivion of whisky were calling to me. I wasn't in serious danger. I would have stopped myself before I started. I would have remembered all I have to lose."

Anna looked relieved.

"Good. My brother drinks. He's…well, he's nasty, and he's made no effort to stop."

John linked his fingers with hers.

"It is like a sickness. That doesn't excuse anything your brother has done, but it is more difficult than you can imagine."

He ran his thumb over her index finger.

"Anna, I promise I wasn't in serious danger. I was, I am, cold and in pain, but I will not succumb to temptation. It is weak, it is sordid, and it isn't who I want to be. I promise."

Anna looked at her free hand, and then at John.

"Are there any temptations you think you might ever succumb to?"

1 Walt Whitman, "Carol of Occupations", _Leaves of Grass_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Usually John enjoyed train rides. The chance to watch other passengers, to speculate about them, to be truly alone with himself in a group of people. He enjoyed watching the changes in landscape. John usually didn't read on trains. He preferred to watch and think.

When John traveled alone, he rode in the third class carriage, as he did when the family went to London. Today, however, John was seated in first class next to the Earl. They were off to London for a few weeks for war related votes in Parliament. On these men-only excursions to London they always traveled together as friends and former comrades, ignoring their current status as master and servant.

Today John wished the whole family was going so he could be alone, or with Anna, which was just as welcome, in third class. Their parting the evening before had been thought provoking, and John was having a hard time keeping up his end of the conversation with Lord Grantham.

John's relationship with the Earl had evolved in their years together. The Earl's relationship with John had not. They had been assigned to the same unit in the African War, and even though one was a captain and the other a sergeant, they immediately liked and respected each other. John had admired the Earl for his ability to make tough decisions under pressure, to command, and to not show favoritism. Although they were both aware of the differences in their lives and stations, they never alluded to it. In war, it made no difference. As they turned to women and alcohol respectively to numb themselves, neither judged the other. War had a way of uniting men.

War also had a way of changing men. John and the Earl saw the exact same events day after day, but after a while, they saw different events each day. John saw horror, slaughter, the results of bad decisions by leaders he was sworn to respect and obey but who he obeyed without any sort of respect. John, who had been drawn to the military for its emphasis on duty and honor, began to see it as an implement of destruction and carnage. Might did not make right. John had been bred to be respectful, and to know his place, and to be mindful of those whose position was better than his, but as he gained experience in the world, he realized rank was nothing more than an accident of birth. It didn't make any one man better than any other.

Lord Grantham was one such accident of birth. As John lost faith with the Army, the Earl continued to believe in the honor of the military, the duty, the purpose. John knew, from the usually conversant man's increased quiet, from the women, that the Earl was troubled. John suspected that as a representative of the aristocracy, Lord Grantham had never been in a situation in which he would consider authority or respect. His birth demanded them. During their time in Africa, John noticed that in all discussions of the war, the Earl echoed what his senior officers had said without wondering or commenting if their positions were well reasoned. John began to pity the Earl. This was a man who was not equipped for deep critical thought, but then, it had never been encouraged or needed in his small world. John still respected him, he still liked him, but he saw him for the simple man he was. Questioning authority would undermine everything the man stood for, yet in a more just world, Robert Crawley would be a just another gentleman farmer with a wife and family who never had to think about roles and or his role in the greater world. No public role, no pressure to uphold outdated and misjudged standards.

The war in Europe was highlighting the same qualities. John had hoped age combined with their experiences in Africa had opened the Earl's eyes to what war really was: not a defense of their country, not a defense of their king, but an organized slaughter of men just like them. Sadly, Lord Grantham had not learned to reflect. He still maintained that war was necessary. John took great pains to make vague, agreeable comments. By now, John knew the last thing the Earl wanted was real conversation. It wasn't that he wanted to be surrounded by sycophants, he just didn't know what to do with real disagreement about real issues. John knew discussing the war with him would be radically different, perhaps even upsetting, from discussing shooting party plans with Lady Grantham. John wasn't sure if the Earl even understood how different their views were, but it would be cruel to the simple man to enlighten him.

Luckily John was able to maintain several threads of thought at once. While he looked attentively at the Earl, nodding, lightly disputing but not disagreeing, he thought about his parting from Anna the previous evening. It had only been a few hours since he had seen her, but it felt like days. Perhaps it was the uncertain length of their separation that troubled him. They could be apart a few days or a few weeks, depending on how the voting went. John hoped it was over quickly, so he could get home to her. John hoped it lasted until the whole family came down for the Season, so they could gain some perspective.

Although it had been a cold evening, with late season snow threatening the emerging spring shoots, John and Anna had gone outside for their farewells. He led her to a secluded bit of walled garden, away from the house, away from the outbuildings, away from the path to Mr. Branson's cottage. His leg wasn't bothering him as much as it had been; at Anna's urging he had consulted Dr. Clarkson, who suggested some new exercises to relieve the pain. Even so, he didn't want to risk standing too long with Anna holding on to him and lose his balance. Falling on top of her in the mud was not how he wanted to say goodbye. He found the bench in the corner of the garden, suggested to him by the Earl.

John tugged Anna down to his lap, and she placed herself across his knees, one arm behind his neck, one near his waist. Even with her sweater and shawl, she shivered against him. John wished he had worn his overcoat. He could tuck her inside of it with him. Instead he pulled her closer, one hand between her sweater and her dress, one hand on her lower back. He leaned forward to kiss her. She sighed into his mouth and he drew her closer, tighter. As he felt her body grow soft and weak in his arms, he felt her breasts grow tight and hard against his chest, and he felt warm. He felt a part of himself disengage.

It would be possible to unbutton the buttons along the back of her dress. He could slip a hand inside. Run it along the top of her corset. Dip a finger between her corset and her chemise. Dip a finger between her chemise and her skin. Her warm, soft, skin.

Anna shifted on top of him. She leaned her forehead against his and smiled.

"Will you miss me, Mr. Bates?"

Frost was forming on the grass, yet John felt warm. Faery. Nymph. He smiled.

"I might."

Anna raised an eyebrow.

"You might?"

His finger circled a button.

"Maybe."

John moved a hand to her neck, his fingers lingering near her lips. Anna took one between her teeth, running her tongue along it as she kept her eyes on him. He closed his eyes and gasped.

"Are you going to tell me not to miss you?"

John felt his hand, as if of its own accord, slip her hair from its tight knot. A finger found its way between the button holes on the back of her dress.

"No. Perhaps I should, but I'm no hypocrite."

Anna rolled her eyes as she shifted again, pulling her knees up towards them.

"Mr. Bates, your insistence on being undeserving can be so tiresome."

John pulled her mouth to his again, running his tongue along her lips. He felt her fingers along his neck, reaching into his collar, which felt tighter than ever. He heard only wind and her breath and her heart. Perhaps he was tiresome, but he still couldn't believe that he really deserved the love of this beautiful young woman who expressed herself so energetically. Or that she deserved him. But she wanted him. Maybe that was enough.

"And didn't you say something about thinking being a dangerous habit?"

"I believe I did."

Anna smiled. She smelled so good. Her hair was so soft.

"Well then."

Anna was right, he did think too much. She was trying to undo his tie. He managed to get a button unhooked with one hand and slid a finger inside her dress. He felt her inhale suddenly. His lips were under her ear. Her eyes were closed, and her hands had stilled. All John was doing was running one finger back and forth along the top of her corset. Women's undergarments had changed in the years since he had confronted them: there was a bit of skin reachable just above the top of her corset. Would it be the same if he tried around the front her dress? Would he find skin just above the corset line?

Anna was holding her breath. She released it and looked into his eyes, parting her lips. She would stop him if he went too far. She would. But he wouldn't go too far.

She whispered into his ear. John wasn't sure what she said. His hand was on her leg. It was under her skirt. It was slowly sliding up her leg to her knee. His hand loitered there, teasing the back of her knee through her stocking. The stocking went on forever. He could move farther up her leg. Find the top. Find where the skin was hiding. Find something other than cloth. She smelled like roses and lemons.

Her hands were pulling him closer. He put his mouth to her breast. His lips searched along the coarse black fabric. He couldn't find much through the layers, but he had to have more. She'd stop him if he went too far. She would. She had to. John felt like he was watching from above. He moved the hand from her back to her front. Buttons at the front of the dress as well. He slid a finger beneath the lowest button. Some sort of light fabric was poking above the corset line. He wished he could see. He could undo them all. Then he could see.

Anna softly whimpered. She wasn't stopping him. She wasn't going to stop him. John had to stop or madness would follow. He had to stop. They were better than this. She deserved better than groping under her dress in the cold, dark garden. He deserved better. He wanted to be able to see and feel and spread out. Slowly he withdrew his finger. He smoothed her skirt over her legs and pulled her sweater closed and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. Anna shivered.

Anna looked at him. "Why…."

John kissed her forehead.

"We should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Lord Grantham was saying something. John agreed. He hoped he was supposed to agree. It was going to be a long day.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

For a rather posh establishment, the quarters for the valets at Lord Grantham's London club resembled a barracks with walls between the beds. The place had a smell. It didn't smell as bad as prison, but it had the distinct aroma of men living in close quarters. The rooms were small, cell-like almost, with tiny windows near the ceiling that showed nothing but darkness at all hours. The beds were low and narrow, not much better than cots. Each room had a small chest of drawers and straight back chair. That was it. John didn't mind too much. He could not sleep anywhere, though he longed to see sky and trees and have a bit of fresh cool air.

John was accustomed to being older than most of the other men, but this time he encountered more of his contemporaries, the younger men having answered the call of their king. John was sad for these younger men. Being a valet wasn't John's ideal career, but it was a good, respectable job with a future. War had no future. So many of the younger men he knew from staying at the club with Lord Grantham would never return. Many were too young to face the horrors of war, too ignorant to understand the years of failed diplomacy that led to the war. All were too young to die in someone else's fight.

The older men John now encountered were happy to have the work. Some of these men were former soldiers, some had been in service since their youth. Some had aspired to this position their entire lives, others couldn't believe their luck at having such fine employment. John was of two minds. He was grateful for the chance Lord Grantham had given him. He knew the Earl felt guilty about John's injury. John had never blamed Lord Grantham for what happened; it was part of war. John had applied for the position on a whim soon after his release from prison as part of his plan to rebuild his shattered life. He did not expect to be hired, not realistically, knowing that Lord Grantham knew of his disability, but John was surprised, humbled, when he received the Earl's response. John considered himself lucky. He was very good at his job, and it carried a certain amount of status, and paid well, but was also fairly silly. Helping a capable grown man to dress. Selecting his cuff links. Making travel arrangements.

The barracks was noisy at night, even with the younger men gone. The walls were thin, the lavatories were at either end of the hall, and there was a large common room in the middle of the hall were the men gathered in the evenings to drink and play cards. John rarely spent time there. He talked to the other men when they met in the halls, and was generally cordial, but he preferred to stay away from the nightly gatherings. As a reformed drunk, being around while others were drunk revulsed him. The others thought him haughty, thought that Lord Grantham's man, the one with the cane, thought he was better than them. John heard them talking. He didn't care.

They had been in London three days. After seeing to the Earl's business after he left for Parliament each morning, John dealt with pressing business of his own. He was looking for Vera. The first day, he had checked in with the man who was running advertisements inquiring as to her whereabouts. They hadn't received any reports in six months. The second day he visited her last known address. No one there knew her. The third day John sought her in her former haunts. These were depressing, sordid places that stank of filth and booze and smoke. Vera had not been like that when they married. She hadn't exactly been a nice girl, but she was respectable. These places were full of whores and gamblers and drunks and drug users. No one admitted to knowing her, or where she was. John scarcely dared hope she might be dead. He wasn't that lucky. John bathed when he arrived back at the club, and settled in with _Paradise Lost_ while he waited for Lord Grantham.

After these disheartening days of looking for Vera, John wondered if it might be more fair to Anna, and to himself, to attempt to end their involvement. He was disturbed by their last evening in the garden. He had been so close to losing control, and he couldn't bear what that might bring to Anna. The problem was the more he was around her, the more of her he kissed, the more he wanted. She had so many other parts he'd like to kiss, to touch. His concern was that one thing did tend to lead to another rather easily, and after their goodbye, he wasn't sure he should trust himself. Her response, her eagerness for him, only inspired him to go farther.

John wasn't sure he liked Milton. An awful lot of religious despair masquerading as poetry. Ending things with Anna was unquestionably the right thing to do. If they kept this up, she would be shamed by the world. It would be his fault. She would hate him. They would have a child. The child would come to hate him for not making an honest woman of its mother. If Anna ever let the child know who he was. He would never see her again. _Of that forbidden tree, whose taste brought death into the world_….1It was better to just work with her, just see her every day, the way things used to be. Safer. He would be miserable, but Anna would be miserable if this continued.

John couldn't believe he had actually had his hands inside her dress in what amounted to a public place. He was embarrassed. She deserved so much more. Another few minutes, and his trousers would have been at his knees and her skirt above her waist and the front of her dress undone. That would have been shameful. Her legs around his waist, her hands at his shoulders, his hands…John closed his eyes and leaned back his head. John was embarrassed just thinking about it. No dignity at all. Anna deserved more. He didn't deserve Anna, but he deserved more than frantic partially-clad groping in the garden. Anna….Anna deserved warmth and a bed and light and a man who could be there with her every night and every morning. Not a married man. She was an experience to be relished. She deserved time and privacy to revel in the experience, and John didn't want to encourage her to settle for anything less. Anna could never be cheap, but he would not sully what they had by turning it into something sordid.

_To be weak is miserable, doing or suffering_.2 Maybe Milton had a point. John was weak, at least when it came to Anna. His willpower was insurmountable in every other regard, but with Anna he always teetered on the edge of weakness. Her eagerness for him didn't help. He didn't want to deny her, but he had to. It was the only way she could remain safe. John thought the idea that women should be virgins until married a little boorish, a little hypocritical. He didn't even know for certain if Anna was a virgin. The issue was Vera. He would never live with the woman again, hopefully he would never see her again, but until he was free of her, he could have no further intimacies with Anna. The consequences were too dreadful.

It had been so different with Vera, but then, he had not loved Vera.

The noise from the hall was picking up. How did men in their forties and fifties manage to turn into loud boisterous youths when in close quarters? Someone had a new lady friend. Apparently she was quite comely. She was probably tall and curvaceous, not dainty and slender, perfectly proportioned, a waist made for his hands, a large mouth and wide-spaced eyes and golden hair and breasts that he suspected would just fill his hands….John shut his eyes. _Round his parted forelock manly hung clust'ring but not beneath his shoulders broad. She as a veil down to the slender waist her unadorned_ _golden tresses dishevell'd_….3 Maybe there would be no consequences, no physical consequences. Vera had never conceived; maybe the problem was him…Maybe he couldn't….No. John opened his eyes. The social consequences would be just as bad, worse, than the physical ones, and again, only Anna would suffer. Like when he kissed her at the ball but worse. People would know, people would talk, no matter how discreet they were. He would suffer if Anna suffered. He would suffer more if Anna suffered because of him. He would be like Lucifer, thrown from the gates of Paradise.

John groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Couldn't those men leave off singing when his head was pounding? Gentlemen's gentlemen indeed. The only path was to end it. Tell her he loved her, dearly, loved her too much to hurt her and all this path would lead to was ruin. Tell her his time with her was the only time in his life he felt alive, peaceful, and he would treasure it, but that for her own good he must remove himself. In a just world, all that would matter would be love, but the world was a cruel place. He wanted more than stolen moments in the grounds, and she deserved more. All he could offer was adultery. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He would then leave his job. Return to London. And if he was lucky, he would die.

John felt sick. Cold. Sweaty. He would die. Inside. Nothing would be left inside for all the time his heart would be with Anna. It was with her now. She was getting Lady Mary ready for bed, and hopefully she would soon follow. John hoped she could catch up on her sleep while he was gone. The days he had been gone she had never left his thoughts. It was like they were bound by some invisible thread near the heart. Leaving her would be the hardest, the cruelest thing he'd ever done, but she was young and resilient. She would move on soon enough. Or take over from Mrs. Hughes. John always felt a twinge when she said that. It would be an excellent position for her, but she never convinced John it would make her happy. John would spend his days thinking about their time together, their walks, their conversations, their stories. He would spend his nights thinking about her warmth, her scent, her kisses, her softness. He would imagine her asleep next to him, asleep in his arms, each night. The hollowness in the pit of his stomach would never leave. Would Anna understand? Would she understand that love brought cruelty? Would she understand that her love had brought him a bit of life, and for that he wanted more for her? Would she believe that there was no happiness for him without her, but that he had to sacrifice it for her? Would she? Would it be better if she didn't?

John thought he might be ill.

The bell rang. Lord Grantham was back and ready to be tucked in. John put down the book, realizing he hadn't turned a page in over an hour and hadn't taken in any of what he'd read. He pulled himself to his feet, sighed, and put on his jacket. He hoped the Earl went right bed. He didn't think he could talk politics or about the family when his heart was being ripped from his chest.

1 Milton, _Paradise Lost_, Book I, lines 2-3

2 Ibid., Book I, line 157

3 Ibid., Book IV, lines 302-306


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

John's mother was getting old. As she laid the table for tea, her movements were slower than he remembered. She seemed to have some problems getting up and down, but declined John's offer to help. She was old-fashioned enough to refuse male interference in domestic tasks.

Her mind was as sharp as ever. She joined him at the table, updating him on her neighbors and putting slices of his favorite tea bread on his plate. John thought he was making appropriately interested comments, but his mother saw through them. She always had. She called him Johnny. Her Johnny.

John knew no matter how old he was, he would always be her Johnny. John was the only of her seven children to live to adulthood. They had returned to Ireland after his father died, selling his shop and living with an uncle for a time. After there were no Bateses left but John and his mother, she moved to London to be near him. Mrs. Bates was a lace maker, and was able to find employment almost anywhere. John could have supported her, but again, she declined. She liked her independence. Her home was small, but very tidy and comfortable.

Her hands shook as she stirred her tea. John hadn't noticed that before. She asked after Anna without looking up. John cleared his throat. Said she was well. Said she sent her best wishes. His mother cast her shrewd gaze upon him. He was stirring his tea. Asked if he and Anna had had a disagreement. John placed his spoon on the saucer. The teaset had been purchased with the intent of becoming a family heirloom. His mother had intended to leave it to a granddaughter. John wondered how disappointed she was that there were none.

John told her everything was fine. He wondered if he could get her to talk about his grandmother. He asked about the time, as a girl, her family had moved from Cork to County Roscommon. His grandfather hadn't known what to make of Rathcroghan, but his grandmother immediately knew it was sacred to the Good Folk. John hadn't known his grandmother.

His mother told him not to change the subject. She looked at him across the table. Said she knew he wasn't going to tell her what had happened; he never did. It had been his way since he was a boy. But he was still her boy, no matter how old he was, and she was still his mother, and that gave her certain rights, certain duties. She'd overlooked some mistakes he'd made, letting him sort himself out and learn, but not this time. He obviously required guidance.

John closed his eyes. He wished he needed to be back at the club early this evening. Sadly, Lord Grantham was dining out immediately following Parliament and wouldn't require John until bedtime. He was stuck. John respected his mother, but this was a bit much.

She went on. Obviously something had happened between him and Anna. She could tell. She always knew when something was amiss with him. From the way he wasn't meeting her eye she supposed he was embarrassed about something. Something he had perhaps done. Had he taken a liberty? She supposed, from his downcast eyes and red cheeks, he had taken a liberty. How did she manage to make him feel like a naughty schoolboy?

She went on. Had Anna rebuffed him? Taken offense? Broken off whatever it was they were doing? She was waiting. John looked out the window. It was starting to rain. The lace curtains were as pristine as ever. She was waiting. John sighed. There was no escape. John admitted yes, he had taken a liberty. His mother sighed. Said she hoped that nice girl hadn't broken it off with him. John noticed a fat old man fumbling with an umbrella and a dog in the street. John confessed Anna hadn't been offended in the least.

His mother sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes. John noticed some of his old things in the parlor. When he went to prison, his mother descended on his house and took everything of value, sentimental or otherwise, before Vera had the chance to sell it. His mother had never cared for her daughter-in-law. She hadn't said anything, but John knew. She sighed again. So the liberty hadn't been unwelcome, and that was the problem. At least she didn't ask what the liberty had been.

Having a good woman at his side would do him a world of good. Vera had not been a good woman. Vera was a harpy. A harlot. She knew why he married her, and that was always a bad basis for a marriage. That business might fade away in time, though with his father….John's head snapped up. So far as he was concerned, he'd been found out in the garden. She conceded his marriage might have lasted if he hadn't gone to war, hadn't been wounded, if they both hadn't drunk so much, but then, living with Vera would make anyone drink. John chuckled.

She went on. It had been evident to her when Anna called that the girl loved him. It was equally evident that he loved her. His problem wasn't regard for Vera. What was the problem? John tried to speak, tried to say something, but only got out Anna….His mother continued. It didn't have anything to do with Vera, did it? John thought it had everything to do with Vera.

His mother thought it had more to do with his sense of honor. She applauded him for trying to do the right thing, but wasn't there an awful lot of grey in doing the right thing? Hadn't the war taught him that? She was proud she'd raised him to have that sense of decency. It was his best quality, but also his worst quality. She was frustrated now. She was starting to stutter a little. John wondered how long that had been happening.

Maybe she'd let him read too much as a boy. Maybe that's where he picked up these noble ideas, or maybe something from church had stuck. Yes, she knew about him and church. He couldn't hide anything from her and he shouldn't try. Anna was the best thing that could have happened to him. John tried to speak again. But she deserves….Again he was cut short. She may deserve better, but she wants him. Shouldn't Anna get a say in it? All women deserve better than the men they get, and all men wind up with better women than they deserve. That's just how the world works. She could have done much better than his father, and his father certainly could have done worse, but she had wanted him. John smiled. So did his mother.

She left the table to refill the teapot. John noticed her breath wasn't easy. She returned. Anna, if he would let her, would bring out the best in him. If he would trust her. Trust again. If he wouldn't overthink it. Overthinking again. He loved her; now if he would just let himself be loved in return and stop questioning it. She missed the point. He was….He loved Anna and that's why it….His mother shook her head. She looked out the window. He was missing the point.

His mother looked at him. She told him she loved him and wanted the best for him as she always had. This girl was the best for him. He just needed to trust her. He needed to put the past behind him. Obviously Anna accepted that he was married and what that meant for them. She knew about prison and about his problem with drink. These things that he found so shameful she saw as signs of his strong character. John interrupted. Anna is so young and….

Anna is not as young as she seems. She has wisdom John lacks. John should not be ashamed of his desire for her. John felt hot. He didn't know where to look. Anna obviously wasn't put off by it; her desire for him was probably equal. John's mouth fell open. There is nothing shameful about desire, and there doesn't have to be anything shameful about acting on it. Just don't get her in trouble.

John needed a good strong woman in his life, to look after him. She wouldn't be around forever, and Vera might be dead for all he knew. She certainly didn't seem to be returning anytime soon, and in any case, she was neither good nor strong nor nurturing. Anna was all of these things, and more importantly, she loved him. He needed to trust her. He needed to have faith in her, her wisdom, her judgment. It wouldn't be like it was with Vera. None of it would.

His mother sat back in her chair. She was too old for these things. She closed her eyes. John wondered if he should ask one of the neighbors to look in on her now and then. John did have faith in Anna. He didn't have faith in himself. He could conquer the frustrated desire, but there were so many other ways he could ruin her life. He was right. His mother meant well, but he was right. He would write Anna later. His mother opened her eyes. She hoped this was the end of it. She liked Anna and wanted to see more of her. She hoped he brought her by next time she was in town.

Later, when John was leaving, his mother handed him a parcel of books. She had been out and saw them in a shop window and knew he'd like them. Lady Wilde's _Ancient_ _Legends of Ireland_ and Matthew Arnold's _Essay on Celtic Literature_, both beautifully bound in linen and embossed with gold. John kissed his mother's cheek. She patted his cheek and told him to be good. She knew he'd do the right thing. She loved her Johnny.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

John's leg was stiff. His neck hurt, as did his back. His left arm was numb, but he was willing to accept it. Anna was asleep in his arms, and for that, he would suffer anything.

She was beautiful against his chest. Her hair had fallen a bit. The bun was unraveling in the back and strands of gold were strewn across her face. John lightly brushed them away so he could see her. Her hair was so soft. She was so soft. So warm. She smelled so good. He felt so warm when he saw her slightly parted lips, her fluttering eyelids, her small hands. Her hands were curled under her chin and against his chest. The top of her head fit perfectly under his chin. The curves of her body aligned perfectly against him. A perfect fit. It was perfect.

It wasn't perfect. For it to have been perfect, they wouldn't have been fully clothed sitting upright in a public place, but it was what they had, and he was willing to accept it.

John would have to wake her soon. They were nearly home. Anna had fallen asleep almost as soon as they'd gotten on the train. After settling Lord Grantham and Lady Mary in first class, John and Anna had found a nearly empty carriage in third. Lord Grantham winked at him as they left, and John noticed Lady Mary's sly smile at Anna as they took their leave, and wondered how much discussion had taken place between them before their unexpected arrival in London. In any event, John was relieved they had arrived when they did. He never had a chance to write that letter.

When John returned to the club after leaving his mother's, Lord Grantham had received a telegram informing him that Lady Mary and Anna would be arriving at Kings Cross midday the following day. John would need to collect them and take them to Lady Rosamund's house, where they would be staying for a week before returning home with Lord Grantham and John. Lady Mary had sudden business in town, and was unwilling on this occasion to rely on her aunt's maid. John suspected the business involved eligible men, and she needed Anna with her not so much to fix her hair but as her only real friend. John had recently heard some whispers about Lady Mary. He hoped what he had heard was the product of jealousy, because he didn't want to contemplate the devastation it would bring to her father if true.

Anna shifted against his chest. He pulled her closer. She was so much more solid than he imagined. It didn't matter how many times he held her against him, he never quite remembered how solid she actually felt. John would happily hold her like this the distance of the journey four times over, no matter how much his body would punish him later. And punish him it would. He put his lips against her head.

John had been nervous, anxious, as he waited for their train to arrive. He was thinking not so much of how he would greet Anna but of what he might say, later, when they could be alone. His mother's advice had been with him all night, but he wasn't sure. He still thought this was unfair, dangerous. And then he saw her. Anna. He saw Lady Mary first, cool and regal, followed by Anna in her grey travelling coat, her eyes searching for someone. For him. John felt a powerful helplessness wash over him. Her eyes smiled first. He was a fool. The rest of her smile followed. He summoned a porter.

John saw Lady Mary into a cab while the porter arranged the cases. As he assisted Anna into the seat next to her, their eyes met. He ran his fingers over the top of her hand and was conscious they were taking too long. Lady Mary discretely coughed. John joined the driver in front and directed him to Lady Rosamund's.

He wondered if the barrier between the seats was hurting Anna. It seemed to be digging into her side. A hand had wandered under his jacket.

John talked to Lady Rosamund's butler while Anna and Lady Mary unpacked. The butler told John he had been told the evening before that they were expected. He believed the young lady would be attending some social functions with her aunt. John suspected Anna would have a great deal of leisure this week. Anna appeared, having changed out of her travelling dress, and confirmed that other than assisting Lady Mary in the morning, before dinner, and in the evening, her time was her own. She grinned.

After John finished his work on Lord Grantham's behalf each morning, he went to Eaton Square to collect Anna. Never since the change in their relationship had they had such a gift of so much uninterrupted time alone. John was determined to make the most of it.

They walked. They shopped. They talked. Anna told John about the moorland of her childhood, dotted with sheep and ruined cottages and howling wind. John told Anna about Ireland and how it was so green it was shiny. Anna told John about her first years in service. The staff had no heat, no hot water, and were only allowed to bathe when the family was out, which was never as they were a large family. John told Anna about his dead siblings and how selling his father's shop upset his mother more than his father's death. That had somehow made her great loss somehow more real.

John had lived in London much of his life, but had never thought much of it. Now he was seeing it through Anna's eyes, it was different. Fresh. New. Anna had spent a great deal of time in London since going to work for Lord Grantham and she enjoyed the change and adventure and potentials of the city. They went to Harrods. The walked in Kensington Gardens. John liked the new statue of Peter Pan. Anna liked the glimpse of the palace. They took tea in fine hotels. The went to galleries. They visited St. Paul's. Anna wanted to see the mosaic inside the dome up close and climbed the stairs into the whispering gallery. John snuck up the other staircase and smiled when she jumped to see if he was behind her when she heard him say her name.

Anna murmured something in her sleep. John felt her lips move slightly against him, her breath warm. She turned her head slightly. John ran his finger along her nose, feeling how it turned up slightly at the end.

After a visit to the National Gallery, John took her to his favorite bookshop near Charing Cross. It wasn't large, but it was full of variety. They spent the bulk of the afternoon there. John picked up a copy of _The Tales of_ _Belkin_. Anna was looking at an edition of _At the Back of the North Wind_.

"Ooh. MacDonald. I liked his _Phantastes_ and _Lilith_." John was looking over Anna's shoulder.

"My father and I read this when I was a girl, but my copy is gone." She sounded wistful. Another casualty of her mother's sale.

"Then you must have a new one." John wanted her to have anything she wanted. What good was his money if he couldn't spend it on her?

John saw a new edition of _Twelfth Night_. Anna was looking at _The Blithedale Romance_.

"Anna, have you ever been to the theater?"

"No, but I read that years ago. 'Come and kiss me, sweet and twenty, youth's a stuff will not endure'1."

John smiled.

"My mother was right."

"That doesn't surprise me. About anything in particular?" Anna didn't look up.

"That while I may be twenty years your senior, with four times your life experience, you have wisdom I will never have." John walked to where Anna was standing and scandalized the shopkeeper by putting his hand around Anna's waist. What was to come was still unsure.

The train stopped. John couldn't reach his watch, but he thought they had just over an hour. Two old women—stout, dumpy, hats jammed low on their foreheads—entered the carriage. They eyed him and Anna as they passed, eyebrows raised. John acknowledged them by smiling and tightening his grasp on Anna's shoulder. They sat a few seats away. He heard their loud whispers. His daughter? Never. He must be rich. Don't be daft, if he were rich they wouldn't be in this carriage now would they? Well, he must have something! A certain lilt on the something. Cackling. Maybe he was protecting the girl as she fled some sort of evil? She looked too quality to be a kept woman. Maybe she was traveling with her uncle. They snickered. If he was her uncle, then the woman speaking was Cleopatra! John smiled. No fool like an old fool. They were jealous.

They parted long enough each day to prepare Lord Grantham and Lady Mary for their evening engagements. It was quite easy for John and Anna, as Lord Grantham always met his daughter and sister at Lady Rosamund's house and then returned the ladies there before retiring back to the club for bed. John simply accompanied him to and from Eaton Square. Most evenings, after such busy days, they simply enjoyed a quiet dinner out. After dinner they would return to Lady Rsoamund's and sit by the fire in what should have been the housekeeper's parlor, talking, reading, or just being quiet. John knew an invitation to dine with mother would be very easy to obtain but after their last visit, he wasn't quite ready to return.

John wanted to give Anna something he knew she had never had: a proper night out. Actually, it was something he had never really had either. He wanted to treat her as the lady he knew her to be. He knew the opera, while it would be a new experience for them both, might be a bit much, and he knew Anna didn't have evening wear. He considered the theater, but then John saw reviews of the performances of a pianist called Arthur Rubinstein.

John was a little breathless when Anna came down the stairs to him. She looked beautiful. Her hair was in a lower, softer style, her dark blue dress was simple but elegant, exposing more neck and collarbone than usual and wrapped entincingly around her chest. She had long gloves. Lady Mary had lent her earrings and a necklace and a small beaded handbag. They took a cab to dinner, and John escorted her into the restaurant on his arm. He hadn't had much experience balancing Anna against his cane, but it wasn't as precarious as he had feared. Other diners, especially men, looked at them as they entered. John suspected they were wondering what that beautiful young woman was doing with him. John smiled. He wondered that too, but he didn't question it.

The concert hall was packed. John liked to sit on the aisle near the back so his leg wouldn't be bothered by people getting to their seats around him. It looked to be a lengthy program2. The first thing that struck him as Rubinstein walked on stage was the young man's wild hair. The second was how he carried his hands, which were large and muscular and yet looked somehow fragile. Rubinstein acknowledged the polite applause and sat at the instrument, staring somewhere in the distance beyond the piano. And then there was sound.

He opened with one of Lizst's Hungarian Rhaspodies. Schumann's _Carnaval_ followed, then a Brahms Intermezzo. The first half ended with Mozart's A Major sonata, the _alla_ _Turca_ faster and faster, echoing off the walls of the recital hall.

Anna's eyes were sparkling. They stood and walked to the foyer for the interval.

"Are you enjoying the concert?" Could he kiss her here? With all these people? He hadn't kissed her today; he hadn't kissed her much at all since her arrival in London. She looked so natural in this setting. The crystal chandelier made her hair sparkle. The dark blue of her dress was reflected in her eyes. John felt a little dizzy. Maybe it was the music. Maybe the room was overheated.

"I am, though but for the last piece, it seemed like a lot of flash and not a lot of substance. I like how gentle the Mozart began and how passionately it ended."

John laughed. Mozart. Elegant. Gentle. Intelligent. Irrepressible. Passionate. Hedonistic. Anna.

"I confess I wasn't sure where one ended and the next began until there was applause!"

Anna smiled.

"The others must think us so simple."

"We're just honest. Shall we return, or sneak home?"

Anna took his offered arm.

"No, I want to stay. I'm enjoying it."

Gentle and passionate. John felt pensive as they settled in for the second half.

It was in the second half that the music caught up with John. The first piece was Debussy's _La fille aux cheveux de lin_. Then Bach. Two preludes and fugues from the _Well-Tempered Klavier_. Something clicked for John with Bach. It was so busy, almost too much was happening, but then it fit together and was so satisfying.

All the while John watched Rubinstein. He was hard to watch. He was hard not to watch.

It was the Beethoven that really got John's attention. Sonata in C Major, opus 53/1, "Waldstein." As the rapid repeated notes of the opening began, John closed his eyes. He was lost in sound. It was at once violent, hesitant, insistent, triumphant. How was such sound coaxed out of a wooden box? The sound was nothing more than hammers hitting strings, yet it was so much more. Who was the poet, the man at the instrument or the dead man who never heard it? John's breath quickened. He felt he was floating away. There was a calm part in the middle. John sighed, his tongue running along his teeth. So calm it was tragic in what it didn't say. John's head jerked a bit. He couldn't bear to look at Anna. Not here, not now, with all these people. The conclusion began quietly. Slowly. Like a dawn. Triumphant. It built and built with the same hammering intensity of the opening, but not the same. It had overcome whatever it was. It seemed to stop and start. It was soft and loud. Gentle and passionate. Fierce. Unpleasant and breathtaking. How did this little man at the instrument with such odd hands create such sensations? Suddenly, when John thought it was over, it was twice as loud, twice as fast, busy, furious, triumphant, fingering flying, eruptions of sound, the piano moving imperceptibly across the stage. John took a deep breath as the repeated theme sounded against the trills and hammered notes in the left hand. And then, with a few echoes in octaves, it was over.

John opened his eyes. The applause seemed like something happening in another place. Applause didn't seem quite the answer. And such polite applause. Were these people dead? Had they not heard what he heard? Seen what he had seen on the stage? Rubinstein's ecstatic agony? His head back, his arms and wrists strained over the keys? The man was sweaty, his eyes unfocused. But then he blinked, stood, bowed, and returned to the instrument. Just like that. John released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Only one work remained. Selections from Chopin's _Nocturnes_. John thought it odd to have the seduction follow the passion, but as he listened, he felt it worked. So melancholy and wistful. He looked at Anna. Her eyes were wide. Her face was frozen, but open. Her lips were slightly parted. He thought there might be a tear. He saw her gasp at one note, a high note as Rubinstein's fingers glided up the keyboard. She held her breath. Such longing, such aching. He opened his hand to Anna. She laced her fingers through his without seeming aware of what she was doing. Just as blindly her hand moved to the top of John's thigh. She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell. Her hand moved down his leg and gently back to the top. Her fingers were so nimble. They inched close to the middle. John closed his eyes and let the longing wash over them as Anna's fingers moved even closer to the center of his legs. She sighed as her hand rested there. It was a perfect fit, and an intriguing idea. John was glad of the darkness and glad he needn't stand for a bit. He glanced at her. She was still starring, frozen straight ahead. She tightened her hold as the music intensified. John stifled a groan. The tear he saw lingering in Anna's eye fell. Applause was starting. John lifted her hand and joined their fingers. He thought of peeling off her long gloves and putting his mouth to the bend of her elbow, her wrist, her palm, her fingers. Instead, he looked at her. She blinked and caught her breath and slowly met his eyes. Neither smiled. Neither clapped. While the applause and bravoes thundered around them, they looked at each other squarely and openly. There was an encore, but it registered only as sound, as if happening somewhere else.

Anna nuzzled her face into his neck. John hated to wake her, but she would need to restore her hair and get the sleep creases out of her face before they arrived. He would let her have another twenty minutes. He hoped whatever whim it was that had brought Lady Mary to town has been a success. He would be forever in her debt.

John knew a corner of Hyde Park that was practically on their way back to Eaton Square. In March, it would be empty. It was too cold for the shady business deals that sometimes took place there. It had a grove of trees within which one could be hidden. Aside from John helping Anna with her coat, they did not speak or touch as they walked. Anna didn't ask the reason for the detour. The cool air, with the hint of spring, felt so good after the stuffy concert hall.

The grove was indeed deserted. John removed his overcoat and draped it around Anna's shoulders. He needed the freedom and her dress would need the protection from the bark of the tree. He leaned his cane and hat against the tree. She was looking at him, her eyes wide. She was standing on a large root, so the discrepancy in their heights was not as awkward. John removed his gloves. He put his hands on her neck at that delightful area where her hair swept up and pulled her to him, his thumbs on her jaw. He kissed her. Repeatedly. Greedily. He pulled her closer and closer, feeling how soft and firm she was at the same time. Hands found their way beneath clothing. John blessed the low neckline and cursed the tiny buttons only nimble feminine fingers had a hope of working. He could just feel the intriguing curve of her breast. Anna was leaning half into him, half onto the tree. One of her hands was at his hip, the other had found its way back to where it had rested during the Chopin. John leaned closer until only the tree supported them. Anna's mouth was at his ear, teasing his earlobe with her teeth. John made no effort to stifle his groan. She worked his tie lose, and ran a finger just beneath his collar so it sprang open. She kissed along his neck, long lingering kisses she traced with her tongue and teeth. John suspected he'd need a higher collar tomorrow. Tomorrow. John pulled away enough that he could speak.

"Anna." His lips were still against hers. She kissed him.

"Anna. We need to get you home."

She kissed him again. She looked down.

"Why do you always stop?"

He smiled into her mouth.

"Because at some point we have to stop. Otherwise this could go on all night, past the point it should. I'm at great risk of not stopping."

Had he ruined it? But it needed to be said. He pulled away little further so he could look at her. Her eyes looked wet. They had looked wet since the concert.

John brushed her hair behind her ear, pulling her chin to him, while his other hand pulled her waist against him.

"This is an idea worth pursuing, and I don't want you to think it isn't, but this is not the time or the place."

Finally a smile.

She had the most perfect ears. Small, pink, shapely. John ran his finger along one. Anna burrowed her face into his arm. He kissed her forehead. Her eyes. Her nose. When he got to her mouth she kissed him back.

"We're nearly home."

She blinked. She made an indistinct distinctly happy noise.

"You're beautiful when you're asleep."

She smiled sleepily. Her neck popped when she squared her shoulders.

"I had a such a nice week."

John released her from his arms so she could rearrange her dress and hair.

"So did I. I must thank Lady Mary for this. Or did she have as much to do with it as I've been led to believe? Her father seemed awfully vague about this sudden trip."

Anna grinned.

"Well, she did need to come to town to do some shopping, and she want to see someone before he left for France, but…."

"That's what I thought. Whatever you did, thank you. I was lost without you."

She grinned again.

"Yes, I thought you might be."

1 Shakespeare, _Twelfth Night_, Act II, iii, 51-52.

2 Rubinstein's program that evening: Lizst: Hungarian Rhaspody No. 2; Schumann: Carnaval, Op. 9; Brahms: Intermezzo Op. 118/2; Mozart: Piano Sonata no. 11 in A major, KV 331: Andante grazioso—Menuetto- Alla Turca; Debussy: La Fille aux cheveux de lin, Préludes, Prémier livre, 8; Bach: from the Well-tempered Klavier, Book 1: Prelude and Fugue in G major, BWV 860 and Prelude and Fugue in e minor, BWV 855; Beethoven: Sonata No. 21 in C major, Op. 53/1 "Waldstein": Allegro con brio- Introduzione. Adagio molto—Rondo. Allegro moderato-Prestissimo; Chopin: Nocturne in B-flat minor, Op. 9/1 and Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9/2


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

It had been raining for a week. The damp didn't bother John as much in the spring. He still had achy days, but the hint of warmth and the smell of new growth seemed to chase the pain of the cold winter rain. John liked spring. There was a spot in the woods at Downton where daffodils grew in abundance. Just a field of bright yellow strewn amidst the dark browns and greens of the trees. John dearly wanted to go there with Anna and see it with her eyes, but it had been raining since they returned from London.

The transition back into normal life had not been easy. Their week of togetherness was a hint of what life could be like, should be like, and would never be like. John wondered if the problem was that they both knew it would never be their normal life, and adjusting back to what was their fate was made more difficult by that knowledge. After spending nearly all day everyday with Anna, John found it difficult to simply pass her in the halls while they worked, to simply sneak into a room she was cleaning and help her arrange the bedcovers, to simply sit next to her at meals with fifteen others watching. He had had her all to himself, and that's how he wanted it to stay.

Not being able to get outside had not helped. It was at night, outside, that he was able to be alone with Anna, and the incessant rain was thwarting them. In the snows of winter it had been similar, and they had stayed in the servants hall until everyone else was in bed, but now that they had had their week, it was more difficult. The others were staying up later than usual, and so they really had not had any quality time together. Anna was looking cross and had even been short with Lily. John was surprised. He had counted on Anna's resolve to be happy with whatever they could manage to help them adjust back to normal.

One especially foul evening soon after Easter, John and Anna found themselves in the servants hall with Mr. Branson. Everyone else had long since retired. Anna was sewing, John was trying to read, but really he was waiting for Mr. Branson to go home. He just wanted to sit with Anna, see what was on her mind, see what if anything he could do about it. Mr. Branson, however, was in a mood to talk.

Mr. Branson didn't so much disagree with the war or the causes behind it as he did the idea of one country forcing its beliefs on another. Much like England and Ireland. Didn't Mr. Bates agree? Irishmen had to stick together. John's response was vague. As a general rule, he didn't believe in forcing beliefs on anyone, but in some cases there was such a thing as a just war. Some would argue that some evils could only be stopped with violence. John wasn't entirely sure this war was a just war, and he was appalled at the idea of young men like Mr. Branson being sent off to die in other men's fights. John added that he was only half Irish, smiled, and went back to his book. Anna didn't look up from her sewing.

Mr. Branson was disturbed by the events in Van. The Armenian people were just being round up and to be slaughtered, for no reason. John asked if there was ever a reason for mass slaughter. Mr. Branson thought for a minute. There might be. Sometimes the end did justify the means. Sometimes a sacrifice had to be made for the greater good.

John put down his book. This was far more engaging than _Howards End_.

Anna beat him to commenting. Her tone was sharper than John had expected. What did that mean, the greater good? What was the greater good, anyways? Did he actually mean to justify senseless killing because it might, in some world, promote a perceived greater state of affairs? And who was defining this good, anyways? Her eyes were flashing. John loved it when the fire in Anna shone through. Such passion.

Mr. Branson tried to speak. Anna wasn't finished. Would he say it was for the greater good if the English came in and rounded up the Irish, for no reason other than they were Irish, and they were there. Mr. Branson pointed out that the history of Ireland and Scotland were full of such incidents and the English obviously thought the loss of the Gaelic peoples was for the greater good. Anna noted that if his position was that such actions promoted the greater good, he was hypocrite for denouncing the Turks for killing the Armenians. It was promoting the greater good, as defined by them, and by his standard, an acceptable loss. Why didn't he just get a group of Irishmen together and kill the English oppressors? John raised an eyebrow at him. Anna saw it. Anna turned on him. So the Irishmen were sticking together after all, or he was going to pull that half-Irish business and not take a position? Mr. Branson raised both eyebrows at John. All the while Anna kept sewing.

John decided trying to respond was a bad idea. Anna thought if these were Mr. Branson's beliefs, and he was the sort of man who liked to think he acted upon his beliefs, then working for an earl was hypocritical. How could he accept money, accept lodging and board from one his oppressors whom he'd admittedly like to kill, let alone make eyes at his daughter? John wished he hadn't heard that. He didn't need to know these things about the young ladies. His life would be simpler if he didn't know. Anna continued that surely by Mr. Branson's deft reasoning, overthrowing all these trappings and burning Downton to the ground, Lady Sybil and all, would be for the greater good. It was a small sacrifice. Mr. Branson opened his mouth, tried to say something. Anna cut him off. Needs of the many, needs of the few. He wasn't the only one who had read Marx.

Mr. Branson turned to John as if for help. John just shook his head. He was staying out of it, coward that he was. No, he wasn't. Apparently it was his turn. Anna, still sewing, had turned to him. He was being awfully quiet. Surely he had an opinion. John's opinion was that Anna was tired and Mr. Branson would improve with age. He could not say this. This must be good, he was taking his time. John finally said that yes, sometimes a sacrifice had to be made for the greater good, most of the time the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, but this never justified killing. Killing was always wrong. Anna noted he'd said there was such a thing as a just war; how did he reconcile that with killing always being wrong?

John closed his eyes. That was the problem. There was no such thing as a just war. Killing was always wrong. The dead learn nothing, and what of the men who kill them? What of that boy he shot on command, that poor boy who had had enough and just lost it and John was ordered with his comrades to stand in a line and shoot at him so he would what, learn? John felt his hands starting to shake. He gripped the table. He heard gunfire. The smell of blood and sweat. Screaming. The stink of death. The heat of Africa. Screaming. Gunfire. Smoke. He swallowed. He felt so cold and so sweaty. He opened his eyes. Anna had stopped sewing and was looking at him. Mr. Branson looked uncomfortable and was standing to leave. Finally.

The crease was back in Anna's forehead. She had taken John's hand in hers. John put his head down and blinked. He thought he might be sick.

"Mr. Bates, are you alright?" At least Mr. Branson had left quickly.

"I'm fine." John tried to smile. If only this rain would stop and he could go outside and smell the springtime.

Anna didn't believe him. She opened her mouth to speak.

"No, I'm not alright, but I don't want to talk about it." He shut his eyes. "How about some tea?" He tried to breath deeply. He tried to stroke her hand. He needed to reassure her.

Anna stood. John didn't want to release her hand. He didn't want to his open his eyes and see pity or fear in hers. Anna was solid and real and smelled like furniture polish and lavender. He opened his eyes as she trailed her hand down the side of his face. He saw love and concern. He swallowed as he looked up at her.

"Anna…I…I hate that black dress."

"I could take it off." She grinned wickedly, eyebrows up, eyes sparkling. She leaned slightly over him as she laughed, her chest just brushing his head.

John's entire body shook with his laugh. Anna was real and solid and he was lost in her eyes. He felt his face melt into a smile.

"How about that tea?" He ran his arm across his face, his hands through his hair.

John followed her to the kitchen, leaning in the door as she bustled about with cups and milk. She placed some biscuits on the tray and yawned. He should send her to bed.

"Anna, back there with Mr. Branson….I have a feeling that was more than a disagreement with his political philosophy."

She sighed as she took the kettle from the heat. "I'm sorry about that, but every night before I went to London was like that, and half the time what he says doesn't make any sense and I just had enough. But I like Mr. Branson."

"I like him too. I think he'll improve with age. Most men do."

Anna smiled as she carried the tea tray back into the hall. "I've heard that's true."

They sat, and Anna poured. She looked pensive. John wondered what the real problem was.

"Our time in London was so wonderful, I've had a little bit of trouble re-adjusting to life here. There's this grove of daffodils I've wanted to take you to all week, and this blasted rain…."

Anna smiled. "I've wanted to go there too. It is so beautiful there, and I wanted to see it with you."

John felt lighter to know that they had shared this idea.

"No, I knew the time in London was just a holiday, and I knew there would be a lot to do when I got back, but Mrs. Hughes has decided the whole trip was my idea and everyday now she's said something else about how behind we are and how I shouldn't expect such special treatment and I mustn't think I'm any different from the other girls just because Lady Mary wanted me to go with her."

John wondered why women couldn't just get along and do their work.

"Well, it seems to me that's rather short-sighted of Mrs. Hughes. You're the head housemaid, which does make you different, and you're Lady Mary's maid. She can't be expected to meet suitable young men with no one to help her do up her dress and arrange her hair."

Anna giggled into her teacup. John felt his mouth twitch.

"And doesn't Mrs. Hughes realize how important a lady's maid is? A valet is totally unnecessary. His Lordship could dispense with my services tomorrow and look just as respectable, but all those buttons and hooks on dresses…without ladies' maids, ladies would just be in their dressing gowns all the time, and then the men wouldn't get anything done! It would be hopeless. The world would go to pieces."

Anna choked on her tea. John smiled. He felt better.

"Apparently Miss O'Brien never let up about having to see to Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, and Lily and Jenny didn't get everything Mrs. Hughes wanted done on her schedule. We haven't been on schedule though since Gwen left. No one else has been able to work like her."

John had noticed Mrs. Hughes had been uncharacteristically peevish recently. It seemed none of the girls who applied for Gwen's position were up to standard, and quickly disappeared from the house.

"So Miss O'Brien took it out on Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Hughes took it out on you? And you took it out on me and Mr. Branson?"

Anna looked into her cup. "Well, yes. I'm sorry about that."

"Mr. Branson needs to learn to think first and react later, though I do admire his spirit. He's a true believer."

"He is." Anna looked towards the window. "It's just…Mrs. Hughes reminded me that one day I would have to decide if I wanted to go with Lady Mary when she marries or stay here and eventually be promoted." Anna fidgeted on her chair. "And I think she's nettled about us."

John thought perhaps they were getting to the real problem. He leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Hughes reminding her of a potentially difficult decision.

"Well, is Lady Mary likely to be married soon? And has she offered you a position?"

Anna smiled ruefully. "No, there's nothing like that in the air just now."

"Well then, wouldn't you say that the time to worry about a decision like that is best left for when you're faced with it? There's no need to lose sleep over it just yet, and it may never come."

Anna poured more tea. "You're right. There's no need to think about that yet. I think maybe I am having a hard time re-adjusting. I do wish we could get out of the house."

John sighed. "Me too. One of the things I learned to appreciate in prison is fresh air. I hate the feeling of being trapped indoors, no matter how cozy."

"Then let's go out to the grove as soon as we can. We should be able to catch some crocuses still. I love purple and yellow together."

John noticed that the fire was dying. "I thought everything was settled with Mrs. Hughes after New Years. I should have known. You can never please a Scot."

They laughed. Anna nearly fell off her chair. "Now that was spoken like a true Irishman!

"I think her problem is that she thinks we've undermined her authority. She doesn't like that, and she doesn't like that we have His Lordship's approval. She hasn't said a thing about it since that day in January, but I know she thinks she won't be able to control the other girls. And she must have control."

John sighed. Why couldn't women just do their work and get along and mind their own business?

"I'd have a word with her if I thought it would help."

"No, please don't. It wouldn't help."

"No, I didn't think it would. Anna, she means well. She wants what's best for you."

Anna looked into her teacup. "I know she does. And I respect her very much. But it is like she wants to me lie and sneak."

"She's used to it. She's doesn't know what to do when she has someone who won't. And I respect Mrs. Hughes too much to lie to her. She deserves better. She's used to silly girls running after stupid boys, and doesn't know what to do when she has something different on her hands. Maybe if we continue to set a good example for the younger staff she'll relax her rules. Or at least let up on you."

Anna looked towards the fire. Her voice was so quiet, so tired. "I don't usually mind when she's like this after I've been to London, but then she's never been quite this bad."

John tilted his head. He remembered that farmer Mrs. Hughes met at the fair when Anna was sick. Maybe Mrs. Hughes had a regret.

"Be patient with her. Show her this is good. Mrs. Hughes may be harboring some regret or even some jealousy that we don't know about. All we can do is prove her wrong. She's exercising her latent maternal streak."

Anna smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry; I'm just so tired and so frustrated."

"Me too. I understand."

She looked pensive again. "And I'm sorry I upset you."

John answered quickly. "Don't be. You didn't. And I'm much better now." The fire had burned out. The teapot was empty. He held his hand out to her as he stood. "Come on. We should go to bed."

Anna wrapped her arms around his neck. "Look, the rain has stopped."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The next morning John looked out his bedroom window to see spring had arrived in full force. He hadn't slept at all, but he hadn't expected to. It was just as well; any sleep was likely to be fitful and punctuated with nightmares. He didn't need to wake up the entire staff with his screaming. That hadn't happened since he'd been there, and he didn't want it to start now. It was after three before he laid down. He had had to bathe. When he undressed his undershirt was so soaked with sweat he could ring it out. He felt better after relaxing in the water, but he knew sleep wasn't going to be an option. He tried to finish _Howards End_, but wound up just sitting, thinking, looking out his window until his back and leg began to protest.

Even so, John felt refreshed. He had opened his window and the cool clean air had helped as it drifted over him all night. He stretched as he looked at the morning, and saw how the world had changed overnight. The recent rain was obvious in the brightness of the lawn, the shininess of the grass and leaves. The trees and shrubs that had a hint of bud and leaf now had hints of flower. Birdsong drifted in on the breeze. John saw a pair of rabbits frolicking in the grass. Today would be better. The rain had stopped.

Mr. Branson was quiet at breakfast, nervously glancing at John over his toast. John was afraid that might happen, that Mr. Branson would either think the previous evening was his fault, or that John was now somehow different. He was sure Mr. Branson saw him as different now, and that was alright so long as Mr. Branson didn't mention it. John smiled at him as he asked him to please pass the marmalade. John felt Anna's hand on his knee. Mr. Branson's face melted into a grin. Bells were ringing. John's hand covered Anna's as everyone else pushed back their chairs.

The morning passed quickly enough. Lord Grantham was talkative, and it was time to rotate the wardrobe for warmer weather. John barely saw Anna until luncheon, when she arrived looking a little harried after everyone had already started. He suspected she was trying to finish everything so Mrs. Hughes couldn't find fault when they snuck off later in the afternoon. Much as he didn't want Anna to overtire herself, he hoped that was the case. They needed to sneak off for an hour or so. Mr. Carson was handing out the post. John had a letter. Lady Edith's bell rang. Anna hadn't finished her soup.

John couldn't place the writing on the envelope. It was a man's writing, of that he was certain, but he couldn't think of any man who would be writing him. He looked at the signature first. Franklin Ford. The solicitor who was helping him look for Vera. John's heart skipped a beat. Dear Mr. Bates. Had received word from Mrs. Bates. He had not made her privy to Mr. Bates's whereabouts or desires. Enclosed he would please find her address, etc. If he could be of further assistance, etc. He was very truly his with best wishes, etc.

Vera's address. There it was, neatly typed, on a separate sheet. John read the letter again. It said the same thing. And again. He stepped outside into the courtyard. Even without Thomas it smelled of cigarette. He looked at the sky. It was almost blue. He heard a robin. John needed tea. Mrs. Patmore knew his habits and patterns and always had some ready for him just after lunch.

Anna appeared early in the afternoon. John was sorting through collars in the servants hall. She looked tired, and was carrying a piece of bread and some cheese.

"Just let me eat this and I'll be ready. All Lady Edith wanted was her new hat."

Anna ate like John might take it from her. After she finished she rolled her neck wearily.

"If you're tired, we don't have to go today. I think the rain is over for now."

Anna shook her head. "No, we said as soon as it stopped. And the young ladies have gone out for the afternoon, and I've done everything there could possibly be to do, and Lily and Jenny are working on other chores with Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes did say I could have a rest this afternoon."

John smiled. "Did she? A rest? And is that what you have planned?"

It was Anna's turn to smile. She rose to her feet and took his hand. "Let's go."

The grove lay beyond the house, past the gardens with their old walls and the temple where they first kissed. John kissed her as soon as it was safe. She tasted like cheese.

"You seem better today." She grinned at him.

John looked at the sky. "I am. And so do you."

"Mrs. Hughes hasn't been as bad today."

"And here we are doing exactly what we aren't supposed to be doing? Very naughty."

Anna pulled at his hand and grinned. "She knows exactly what we're doing. She knew exactly what take a rest meant. And a new girl starts the first of the week."

Mrs. Hughes was a wise woman. John hoped this was a trend. He kept up with Anna as best he could. As they rounded the corner beyond one of the other temples, the one that might have a room inside, and entered the wood, he saw it. A wash of yellow, made bright by the recent rains so it glowed against the dark browns and greens. Crocuses still lingered, dotting the brilliant yellow with dark purple. The afternoon was fairly cool, and under the trees it was still quite wet, but breathtaking. They stood in silence. Anna leaned against him. She wasn't wearing her cap and he could smell her hair. She smelled less flowery, more sweaty than usual. She was no less intoxicating.

"Beautiful." John felt lighter than he had in days. Anna murmured in agreement. He kissed the top of her head. "Let's find place to sit."

John settled Anna between his legs on a large rock. He wanted to be able to feel her as close as he could. As she nestled against him he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him.

They sat in silence, letting the cool fragrant air wash over them, listening to the breeze and the birds. The trees were just budding, the daffodils and crocus were in full force. Anna shivered. She didn't have her shawl and John wasn't wearing his overcoat. He pulled her closer. He needed to have her close. It helped. She helped. She felt so solid and so fragile and she just smelled so good. Vera was large, and loud, and never understood the beauty of silence. He had an address for Vera.

Anna shifted against him and moved her neck. Though she was slouched as best as the constraints of her garments would allow, she seemed stiff. John shifted and gently ran his fingers over the exposed area of neck between her hairline and her collar. She sighed and wilted further into him. John smiled and did it again, slower. Anna tilted her head so he could kiss just under her ear. She sighed again. He kissed down her neck until he hit collar. She raised her head. John opened the top button at the back of her dress and ran his fingers over the base of her neck. He wasn't surprised to find a knot there, but he was surprised by the size. He unbuttoned the second button and slid his palm inside.

"Maybe Mrs. Hughes is right and you shouldn't go to London if this is the result. You're covered in knots."

Her felt her giggle. "I have been called naughty." He kissed the newly exposed skin.

"And so you are." He started slowly, lightly pressing around the warm lump. He loved how soft, how supple she was, not just her skin, but her movements. Even now, when she was stiff and suffering, she had a certain fluidity about her. He moved in lines up and down her neck, releasing the tension, keeping his other firmly around her waist lest she relax too much and slide to the ground. Occasionally he kissed the back of her neck.

"It's so beautiful out here." She gasped as he pressed hard against the knot.

"It is. I'm glad we came." The breeze was picking up. He began to work at the spot where her shoulders curved up to form her neck. She gasped sharply.

"I'm glad you're getting help. You're very strong, but you may be pushing yourself too much. You shouldn't be so tense."

She moaned in response. He had Vera's address. Everything with Vera had been a struggle, a contest, a fight. John certainly didn't want submission or control; he wanted respect and understanding and equality and to feel like he had a purpose. Nothing he had done for Vera had been right. He could do this for Anna and it was right. He needed to work on her shoulder blades. Her corset was like armor.

Anna leaned forward. He could reach a little more.

"The new girl will have to share my room. I hope she learns quickly."

Anna gasped as John's knuckles kneaded into her shoulder blades.

"I hope she does too. Better for you and Mrs. Hughes."

Anna was starting to go limp. John pulled her back against him. The trees were rustling and the sky was going grey.

"Is that better? Thanks to that infernal corset there's not much more I can do." He was whispering. No one was around for miles, but it seemed right.

"I'd offer to take it off, but that doesn't seem like an idea that should be pursued just now." She had turned so her lips were at his ear. The sun was back, and bright.

"Not if we're expected to return to work."

Anna was kissing his ear, along his jaw. One hand reached his shoulder and pulled at him. John kept his arm supporting her back. He had Vera's address. Could it always be like this? There was nothing more cruel than false hope. He needed this. He deserved this. The cool air felt so good. Anna's warmth in the cool air felt better.

"I had a letter today." She was working on his tie.

"Anything interesting? This collar is a like a corset for the neck." Her delicate fingers worked under it, springing it open. The horror of last night and the memories of what he had been forced to do had dissolved. Today was a better day.

"Actually yes. It was from the solicitor I've employed to help me locate Vera."

Anna's hands fell to her laps and her eyes widened. John smiled and tucked some loose hairs behind her ears. She looked frightened. She looked at her lap. There was nothing more cruel than false hope. A squirrel scurried by and darted up a tree.

"And what did he have to say?" John's heart quivered at the trepidation in her voice. He drew her against his chest. John cleared his throat.

"He wrote to inform me he had had contact with Vera, and he sent me an address for her."

Anna was quiet. "And what do you intend to do?"

"I intend to contact her." Anna's eyes grew. "I intend to contact her to see if there is any way she would agree to a divorce." Anna's eyes grew even larger. "Our marriage has been over for years, and I'd like it end it officially if I can."

Anna's eyes searched his face. He kissed the top of her head. "But you said that you needed proof of adultery and a great deal more money than you have…."

John smiled. "I did, and I do, but I would at least like to establish contact with her, to see if there's even a possibility..."

"But what if she wants to try again? What if she wants you back?"

John shouldn't have said anything. "She won't, trust me, she made that more than clear years ago, and besides, in the unlikely event she would want me back, I'd have to want to try again too, and that isn't a possibility I'm willing to entertain."

Anna was quiet. John turned her around so her back was to him again, and began working at the knots just above her waist. She gasped loudly. John slid his hands slowly up her sides, pushing out her arms, hooking his hands under her arms and pulling back. He could just feel the gentle curve of her breasts. They would just fill his hands. Was he offering false hope? A swallow was watching them from a branch.

"Besides, if I'm going to be married, I can think of someone I'd rather be married to."

Anna turned so her head was resting on his chest. "Mr. Bates, I understand why you want to contact her, but I think you should be careful. If this is all we can have, so be it."

John felt such hope, such possibility. He could smell the daffodils.

"I heard once there was nothing more cruel than false hope."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

John thought he could kiss the woman. Not Anna, Mrs. Hughes. He found himself standing in her sitting room, feeling like he had when still a soldier and was facing his commanding officer, not sure at first which direction the conversation was going but always aware that his role in it was limited. Mrs. Hughes was obviously ill at ease. She was pacing and twisting her hands and looking at him and the floor. Finally she came out with it. She knew she'd been rather hard on Anna lately, and she wanted him to know that of all the girls she'd had under her in her years in service, Anna was her favorite, almost like a daughter. She had known there was something between him and Anna probably before they did, but it was her nature and her job to watch and to stop. John smiled and assured her his intentions were honorable. She still looked nervous. Her keys were jangling. She had Anna's best interests at heart. His Lordship had said….John said he knew His Lordship had put her in a difficult position, and he was very sorry for being the cause of that, and he would not take such an impropriety again, and he hoped the younger staff members had not gotten ideas. Mrs. Hughes smiled ruefully. William and Daisy were really the only younger staff members these days. If any two people weren't going to get an idea….She would like to know, though it really wasn't any of her business, was there some reason they couldn't marry? After all this time and obvious affection? John thought for a moment. Thankfully she didn't know. She would withdraw her consent of his courtship of Anna, if that was what this turning into. Not answering wasn't an option. John allowed that there was an impediment to an immediate marriage. She accepted that. She hoped he understood it wasn't opposition to him, it was her regard for Anna. John thanked her for her faith in him, and more for her faith in Anna. Mrs. Hughes smiled. Anna was such a special girl. Mrs. Hughes finally stood still, looked him in the eye, and nodded. He was dismissed.

On his way to straighten up Lord Grantham's dressing room, John saw Anna and Katie, the new maid, in Lady Sybil's bedroom. He stopped in the hall and heard Anna instructing the younger woman in how Lady Sybil liked her room arranged. Anna was patient, kind, but firm. Katie didn't talk much; she looked very young and John wondered if she was having a hard time settling in. Anna had spent most afternoons with her in the last week, trying to help her adjust. John hoped once she had acclimated, she would be a friend for Daisy. As John continued on to the dressing room, he again cursed the late Mrs. Smith for denying Anna the opportunity to be a teacher. She had a knack with the young and uncertain.

An hour later, Anna surprised him while he was rearranging the sock drawer.

"I just have a minute. I sent Katie down to the laundry."

"Is she settling in alright?"

Anna looked out the window. "She's very young, and I can't tell if this was her idea or her mother's, but she'll be fine. I just had the most curious conversation with Mrs. Hughes."

John smiled. "Actually so did I. I think she finally gave her consent."

"Yes, I think she did. And she apologized for how she's been, and she gave me all day tomorrow off."

John looked out the window. Pharaoh was getting old. "All day you say? Made any plans?"

Tomorrow was Anna's birthday. John had planned to take her to tea in Ripon. Nothing fancy, but it was the best he could manage with only an afternoon off. With an entire day, he thought he could arrange something a little more interesting.

Anna smiled. "Well, not yet, but I was wondering if you were free, or if you could be free."

"I think I could manage to be."

Anna grinned and disappeared. John still swore sometimes she was part faery. It was fitting her birthday was May Day; when else would such a creature be left on earth?

John spent the day considering possible outings. Ripon didn't have much to offer aside from shops and restaurants. Harrogate was said to be pleasant. York was too far for a day trip. John had heard about a ruined abbey near Ripon that was open to visitors. He thought a day spent exploring tumble-down walls and edifices to the almighty being consumed by nature with Anna would be a perfect day. He hoped she agreed.

She did. She said she'd wanted to see Fountains Abbey, but had never had the chance. And so they found themselves crossing a field of bluebells looking across a river to the remains of what had been a glorious structure in its day. Anna caught her breath and took John's hand. John took a deep breath.

"Happy birthday Anna."

"Isn't it beautiful, Mr. Bates?"

John smiled as he rubbed her hand through her glove. He had an idea.

"Yes, Miss Smith, one of the most stirring places I've seen." He turned towards her and grinned.

Anna smiled at the ground and then at him. "I know, I could call you John, but I've always been in the habit of calling people what I call them when we meet."

"Does that mean I'm doomed to forever to be Mr. Bates?" The sun was reflecting the remains of the tower.

"I'll try. It just seems so strange to say John."

John liked how it sounded. "You can call me whatever you like. Shall we go on?"

They walked on through the sunshine.

"What do you make of this life, Mr...John?" She smiled as she tried it out. Forming his name required her lips to move in a different shape. Her mouth was thin, but large and shapely.

John looked up. All around them were the remains of a magnificent building demolished for the sake of wealth, control, lust, greed. Men who abandoned life's pleasures for hope of achieving the divine, knowing the unknowable, dispersed and killed at a madman's whim. They were standing in what had been the nave looking towards the alter. Moss and vines were enveloping the stones, an aisle of grass between the ghosts of walls.

"Forswearing life's pleasures to attain spiritual knowledge? It has an appeal, if you believe it can be done." Sometimes John wished it could done. "I suppose it could be said in a way I attempted it."

"Attempted it?" Anna's eyes were sparkling. She was wearing a new jacket. It was light grey and plaid and had an open collar showing her graceful neck. It stopped near her knees, revealing her dark blue skirt. She should always wear blue.

"Well, I wasn't trying to find the divine, but I did abandon some of life's pleasures." John wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it today. It was Anna's day, and this was grim.

"I couldn't do it. I wouldn't even try." Anna looked up, her hand holding her hat in place.

"No? You wouldn't become dead to the world to live forever?" It would be a waste.

Anna laughed. "No, I really don't like being told what to do every hour of every day. And it just seems such a waste. All those people, just locked up in these places like prisons, with such little joy and only prayer to occupy their time. I know without them we wouldn't have these beautiful buildings, or the old books and stories and music, but it seems like so much more could have been done if they had been active in a society."

They moved beyond the alter. "Maybe prayer brought them joy. How can we know?"

"We can't know, we can't know any of this, but we do know that many, especially women were forced into it. How could anyone forced to live in the wall of church as a child possibly find joy in seeking the divine? Or a woman who has been forced to become a nun, even after she's repeatedly refused, because her husband has been castrated and sees no better option?"

John wondered when Anna had the time to do all this reading. "Well, Abélard was full of himself."

Anna was facing him. "He was. He never should have made Héloise take the veil. She was miserable. She didn't even believe in God."

"He did what he thought was right." Anna's eyebrows arched. John was nervous. "I'm not defending him."

"Good."

They moved into what was once the cloister. John sat on a low wall and pulled Anna down with him. They sat in silence. A breeze came through. A family with children passed. Anna was looking into the distance. Her back was slightly arched and her eyes were sparkling. John remembered it was supposed to be a day when her people could pass readily into the human world, and humans into Faery. That sometimes happened in these enchanting ruins. Her people would try to find the divine on this night by copulating around fires on hillsides. John wondered if they ever found it. If he would ever find it. Anna was leaning against him.

"This is one of the best birthdays I've ever had." John wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I'm glad." Children were passing. He kissed her ear. He wanted to stroke the exposed neck at the back of her neck and make her shiver.

"When I was ten my father built me a dollhouse and we had ice cream." John pulled her closer. "He gave me a book of fairy tales with the most beautiful pictures." He lifted her left hand from her lap. "It had gold on the edges of the pages." Gloves. Slowly he unhooked the three buttons at the wrist and ran his finger along the thick area where the veins joined the palm. "He told me fairies lived on the moor and if I looked right I'd see them." John reached into his pocket.

"Your father was a wise man." He slid the bracelet over her hand, slowly, and clasped it, taking care not to catch her skin. Anna gasped as the cold metal touched her warm skin and looked down. The bracelet was delicate, aquamarine set in gold with links in between the settings of the stones. It had a little chain to secure the clasp. John was concerned it would be too large for Anna's dainty wrist, but it fit perfectly.

Anna caught her breath. "John." She held up her wrist and stared at it. She straightened out the bracelet with her other hand. The birds were talkative. A tendril of hair had escaped from her hat. John touched it. "It's so beautiful." She turned her large eyes to his. "Thank you."

John smiled. "You're welcome." He bent his face towards her and met her lips. "Shall we continue on?"

"Let's." Anna smiled as she stood and took his hand. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the way her eyes sparkled, John felt he had stopped breathing. Had he been captured by faery, to be held captive for seven years that passed as a day? What had he done to deserve it? Of course her birthday was Beltane. His mother wouldn't be surprised at all, once she got to know Anna. His mother knew all the old beliefs and stories. John was reminded of those Beltane customs as they climbed out of the undercroft towards the remains of the tower. He shouldn't risk the crumbling stairs of the tower, not with his cane and Anna. The fires, the fervor, the union of man and god. There was an idea he wanted to pursue with Anna, one he had long intended to pursue, but had lacked the right time, the right place. As much as open air appealed to him, he just didn't think he could take that much of a risk. He hoped he had time to discover if that little round temple near the pond had a room in it that wasn't completely squalid.

"What's next, Anna, gardens, follies, or more of the ruins?"

She looked around. "I think we've seen all the ruins we can see. We have follies at home, so let's save them for last. Gardens. The roses are just budding."

They walked in silence, John a little behind Anna, his coat swinging like a cape. The air was so fresh and clean, it was hard for him to believe it had been such a dreary winter. He loved spring and the eternal sense of change. Anna was looking across a pond at a golden temple, like a miniature house, perfect in its symmetry, with a statue of a god rising from the water. A lone swan paddled by. Everything here was perfect in its symmetry.

Anna turned to him. "I've made an interesting discovery about one of the follies at home."

John thought his heart skipped. "Oh? What's that?" He gazed into her eyes.

She looked away, at the swan, and back to him. "The little round one, near the pond, has a room inside, and it's fairly clean. The windows all open, and there's some disused furniture stored there." She ran her fingers up and down his palm.

John cleared his throat. What an intriguing notion.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

It was a beautiful morning. Sunny with fluffy white clouds, warm with a light breeze, the air scented with the flowers of early May and punctuated with the song of birds. John felt wonderful. After spending a most agreeable evening with Anna in the temple near the lake, he had read some Tennyson before falling into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in recent memory. He awoke early, full of energy. The problem with having a good day was the pressure for the following day to surpass it. John quickly banished that thought. If today was only half as inspiring as the previous he could count himself charmed.

Breakfast was noisier than usual. Even Miss O'Brien was in a good mood. Ordinarily that would have made John suspicious, but this morning his thoughts were otherwise engaged. He smiled at Anna over his teacup as she entered, still straightening her cap. She took her seat, and asked Mrs. Hughes a question about the morning's work. The family would be leaving for London at the end of the week, and she needed start the young ladies' packing. John barely heard Mr. Carson when he asked him about His Lordship's plans for the day. John was watching Anna stir sugar into her porridge, remembering how deftly she had relieved him of his coat, how nimbly her fingers had worked loose his tie and freed his neck from his collar. He closed his eyes as he remembered the sound of her groan as he finally managed to succesfully unbutton the front of her dress. The way her voice sounded, low and sultry, as she whispered his name. The feel of her breath against the spot just behind his ear. The way those fingers dug into his chest through his undershirt as he put his mouth….What was Mr. Carson saying? Another ship had sunk? He should pay attention.

Dishes clattered. Daisy looked frightened. They didn't know anyone this time did they? Mr. Carson thought not. Seemed this was an act of war, not God. Seemed Germans had packed the ship with explosives, killing most of the passengers. This would get the Americans into the war for sure, didn't Mr. Bates agree? John did agree. There was nothing quite like revenge to stir the interest of a nation into war. William wondered how long it could last now. He looked angry.

John shared the news of the _Lusitania_ with Lord Grantham as he readied him for the morning. Lord Grantham gave John a serious look, sighed, and looked out the window. It would be a long war after all, wouldn't it? Looks like the African war wouldn't be their last war after all, would it? It would only be a matter of time before he was called up to lead again, and he would see that Bates…John remarked that it wasn't necessary, he would manage….Lord Grantham thought it was necessary, after all he had done for him in Africa and since. He would see to it that no matter what the War Office decided, Bates would remain in his service. After all he had done for him, he owed him this. John was quiet. Neither spoke about what they had shared in Africa or what John had done for Lord Grantham. Speaking of it wasn't necessary. Pharaoh looked old.

The talk was of nothing else. John could not escape the _Lusitania_, and the horrors war visited upon the innocent. If the Germans had wanted to incite the Americans into the fray, they had succeeded famously. The younger men were all talking of enlisting. They were all talking of the explosions and the bodies floating on water as if they had seen it. Defend the king, defend the honor of the country. John had seen bodies bloated from starvation stacked in piles like firewood in Africa. He had rounded up civilians, women and children, and put them in camps where they faced certain death. Their own husbands and fathers attacked the supply trains. The British put the women and children in camps to prevent support for the guerillas. What sort of honor was this? Why did might make right? Why did all the men look to him for solidarity and advice? He needed some tea.

The tea wasn't quite strong enough. John enjoyed Mrs. Patmore. She had a nephew, Archie, who was talking of enlisting. She didn't know, but she should be proud. Such a nice a boy, but her sister worried so. What did he think? John didn't have a chance to answer. Mrs. Patmore was obviously concerned. It all seemed so big, that sending nice boys like Archie to God knows where to kill and be killed would solve anything. She was leaning heavily on her rolling pin. She wasn't sure any good could come of this war; she'd a friend from home, nice boy, who was in Africa and was never the same. She looked at John. He wasn't the same. She looked down as she dusted her hands on her apron. John smiled. He understood. The cat entered for his dish of chicken with cream.

John stopped sleeping in Africa. While he had always been of a somewhat melancholy disposition, his experiences had been relatively untroubled and he was able to rest, if not sleep for an entire night. Sleep slowly abandoned him during the war. At first he kept awake to be ready for night raids. With each battle, each horror he encountered, each act of human depravity, John slept less until it abandoned him altogether. He turned more and more to drink so he could at least forget if not sleep. When he returned home, to Vera, he would sleep on occaision, but more often than not find himself soaked with sweat in the middle of the night, bolt upright in bed, screaming. He saw dead children, naked, hollow eyes. He saw puddles of blood. He saw himself shooting on command, rounding up civilians and leading to near certain death on command, killing on command, and for what? During his waking hours, after the war, John never spoke of it. He wasn't sure he even remembered. It was only when he was asleep, or unconscious, that it came back to him, and he awoke, soaked and screaming and sick.

He had hoped he was past it now, after all these years, but he wasn't. The feelings of queasyness that accompanied any talk of war had started again in the months after this war broke out. The incident the previous month with Mr. Branson had been the first major manifestation in some time, and it had concerned John. He had thought he was past it. He couldn't bear for it to show up again now, at a place where he was respected. He could talk abstractly on any topic but this. His blood boiled, his stomach lurched at discussion of war by those who knew nothing about it. He didn't want anyone to know. He didn't want Anna to know.

The day passed. Yesterday had been so good, and today did not stand up at all. When John closed his eyes, hoping to see Anna's face as he bent to kiss her, he saw death and only death. When he tried to breath deeply in the courtyard and smell the warm spring air with a hint of rose on it, he smelled death and only death. Instead of birdsong, he heard gunfire and screaming.

William was one of the worst. John liked William. William was a nice kid, and doing well now that Thomas was gone. John, though not vain, appreciated William's rather frank admiration and hoped there was something he could offer the young man in turn. William was patriotic. He wanted to enlist. He had wanted to enlist since the garden party last August. His father had said no. William was old enough to not require parental consent, but he respected his father's wishes even as he was growing to resent his father. William had spoken to John about this before. He felt he was somehow less of a man for not being at war when all the other men were. John had smiled, and said he understood, but that there were many measures of a man. William had looked confused. John knew all that mattered was that he was missing out on what the other fellows were doing. John was with Mr. Mason. He wanted William to stay home and safe. No one should have to experience a war, to kill on command, to wade through blood and mud and excrement and death with the only clear purpose to create more death. William, sweet, kind, caring, innocent William must not experience it. William didn't understand what he wanted.

John just wanted to go outside after dinner, and be alone for a while before Anna finished with the young ladies. He just wanted some air and some quiet to gather his thoughts, but William wanted to talk, so he was seated at the servants' hall table, listening to William and trying to offer guidance. Guidance he hoped would be taken, but suspected would be ignored. John was sympathetic. Once he had thought there was glory in doing one's duty for queen and country. It was a path that was right for many men, but not for William. He was too innocent, too kind, too gentle to be forced to kill. William wasn't listening. John tried to be patient. When William paused John tried to illuminate what war was really like. The dirt, the squalor, the fear. William saw the pride, the honor. John took a breath. The risk of death. William wasn't afraid. He snapped that at John a little too fast. Of course, no one was afraid at first. Death is something that happens to other men. There were worse things in war than death. A cloud passed over William's face. John really didn't want to talk about it. William asked what was worse. John didn't answer. William maintained the Germans were a threat to the English way of life and had to be stopped. John wasn't sure what that meant. Perhaps William had read it somewhere. John agreed, the Germans needed to be stopped, but was killing Germans who had nothing to do with the causes a solution? William said they were a threat, and had to be stopped, and other men were doing their duty while he was stuck here at home like a child or an old man. John chuckled. William turned earnest. What had it been like, really? John sighed. At first there had a been a sense of purpose. Military training had a way of instilling meaning and purpose into young men who otherwise had no direction. Somehow, while being taught to kill efficiently, the part of war that actually involved killing always remained an abstraction. John's speech was becoming halting. He kept looking to the fireplace, the window, his hands. Talk of honor and love of one's country was one thing, killing for it was something else. Did William understand what he would be fighting for? Really? Could he say with a clear conscience he would be comfortable with the brutal facts of war? John hoped he wouldn't be, but if he went to war he'd have to be, or he'd be shot by his fellow soldiers. John's mouth was dry. His collar felt tight. William tried to beak in. John wouldn't let him. He saw spots. William was so much like that boy they'd killed. Was William prepared for the realities, beyond the heat, the cold, the shit, the mud, the tears and screaming? Was he prepared to see the absolute worst of human nature, in others and in himself, alongside the best? What about being disappointed in himself? What about standing next to a man, having a conversation, and the man suddenly dropping dead? John's voice was rising. Something in his stomach sloshed. His neck felt hot. What about the killing? Was he ready for that? Because he had to be. He would be ordered to kill without mercy. He would be ordered to shoot his comrades if they decided it was too much for them. Did that make them cowards? John hoped William was ready if that was what he wanted. William opened his mouth. John pushed back from the table and went outside.

He needed air. Cool air. He tried to breath deeply but he choked. The familiar waves of nausea came over him. John had hoped he was past this. It had been so long, he thought he was left with just the memories. That boy who just wanted to go home had been so like William. That taste in his mouth. He needed to find a bush. He was so cold. His shirt was soaked with sweat. The inside of his jacket felt damp. He heard Anna. He needed to get away from the courtyard first. No one could know. Almost. No. It was sudden and massive. William was so like that boy. He heard Anna telling William that he didn't like to talk about the war. There was more coming. The military had been such a bad idea for that boy. He was so young. He had never been far from home. He just couldn't do it any more. He would feel so much better when it was all gone. He had thought it was all out. He had thought it had all been purged years ago. He was shivering. The boy had calmly faced the rifles aimed at him. At least he was out of sight. John had pulled his trigger on command with the others. They had fired three times. He hoped Anna didn't find him. The poor boy's body crumpled to the ground, riddled with holes. He wanted Anna. It was over, for now. He took a few deep breaths. The taste was foul. He had replaced alcohol with tea. It just didn't have the same numbing agents and had a totally different quality when it came back up. He heard footsteps. Light ones. He removed his tie and collar. He wanted to take off all his top layers, but he was already shivering. He'd wait till the house was dark and have a bath.

John tilted his head back to see the stars. What that a planet? He felt a touch on his neck, light but firm, cool yet warm. He sighed. Anna.

"I told William you didn't like to talk about the war." Her hand moved up his neck, rubbing that soft area where his hair started.

John swallowed. The taste was vile. He coughed. "I heard. Thank you. I suspect I've upset him."

Anna moved so she could look at him. "No, but I think he's confused. He admires you so."

John tried to smile. He coughed again. He let out a rather cheerless laugh. Anna wiped his forehead with her handkerchief. Her eyes were so soft, so deep, so kind. His handkerchief was now useless and soggy. Her hand trailed down his face, lingering on his jaw.

"Fancy a stroll? I'd hate to waste this beautiful night air."

John coughed. "Alright, but really I'd fancy a drink of water."

Anna smiled. "That can be arranged. Come on."

She led him to the gardener's tap, and then to the gardens. John's pace was slower than usual. Neither spoke. They did not touch. John was grateful Anna didn't ask any questions. It was a clear night. The grass was growing dewy. John was exhausted. Anna looked up him. He saw a tinge of worry pass over her face. His smile faltered.

"Shall we sit? There's a bench just here."

The bench was under a willow, facing a sixteenth-century knot garden. The roses in the garden behind them were opening, the air bright with hints of their scent. John knew the meanings of all the flowers in the knot garden. He'd like to tell Anna what they meant, but he found he couldn't remember.

Anna glanced at him. "This is one of my favorite parts of the garden. I like the symmetry. I feel a little sorry for the plants being forced into certain shapes, but it is so peaceful and clean."

John didn't say anything.

"I think I prefer untamed nature."

John smiled, but didn't say anything.

Anna cleared her throat and looked away. "William…William will have to grow up some day, you know."

John sighed. But he didn't have to kill to do it.

"He has to make his own decision. You can't keep him safe forever."

John felt something snapping inside. "No, I damn well can't, but that doesn't mean he has to kill. He has to grow up, but at what price? Being sent off to kill boys just like him in a fight he doesn't understand? Is that what growing up is about?"

Anna looked at him. "No, but it is about confronting reality and making your own decisions." She looked towards the garden. "I know you love William, and that's why you protect him, but if he doesn't confront the war he'll never feel like he's a man. We just have to pray he comes out alright."

John chuckled. He was in no mood for prayer.

"And yes, I know, it might not help, but it can't hurt." Anna grinned at him.

"No, it can't hurt."

They lapsed back into silence. There was some sort of bird overhead, but John was too tired to decide what it might be. A rabbit darted through the knots, followed by several smaller rabbits.

"There was a boy in my regiment, young. He'd always wanted to be a soldier. He was an only child, and I think his parents were older."

John hadn't meant to tell her. She was looking straight ahead.

"The idea of the military and the reality are completely different, and he didn't handle it well. Killing is never easy, at least not for most men, and the sheer gruesomeness of daily life got to everyone."

Anna shifted a little closer. She took his hand. He couldn't stop. He found it felt good to tell her.

"One day he decided he had had enough. He had started out a cheerful, talkative lad. Everyone liked him. He'd never been far from home and carried a picture of his mother. One day he decided he wanted to go home. We were…we were rounding up civilians to live in camps, we said for their safety, but we knew….Anyways, he decided he wasn't going to. He was crying in his tent."

John took a breath. The air felt so good. He ran his hand through his hair. He'd need to wash it later.

"When he refused to report for duty, Lord Grantham had to tell his commander. Lord Grantham was just a lieutenant at the time, and didn't make many big decisions. The commander said he could report for duty or be shot for cowardice. His Lordship tried to reason with his commander, and when that didn't work, tried to get us to persuade the boy to report. We did all we could, but he refused."

That day had been so hot, even at dawn. Maybe he could find a piece of bread when they got back to the house.

"The next morning, the second in command marched him out, in a clean uniform, hair combed. He stood at attention as he faced our rifles." John choked. "I…mine…I was directly in front of him. I'm an excellent shot; I hope if I had to be the one who killed him it was instant."

"Oh, John…."

"Lord Grantham was appalled by the pointlessness, but he wasn't there when it happened. Later he said something about the spoils of war."

Silence.

"Anna, the boy looked just like William."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

John felt better after telling Anna about the firing squad. Not better about anything in particular, just better. Lighter. Less troubled. He hadn't wanted Anna to know about his experiences in Africa, not only because he wanted to shield her from the reality of war, but also, deep down, he was afraid she would reject him if she knew. He knew she meant what she said, what she had said repeatedly about nothing changing her opinion of him, but he knew she didn't know how bad the truth was. He shouldn't have doubted her. After his confession, and for the next few nights, she sat with him, usually in silence, often holding his hand in hers. She didn't ask any questions, she didn't say anything about what he had done, other than she couldn't imagine how horrible it had been and it was over now. One evening, as they sat together in the courtyard, she remarked that his experiences were part of who he was. She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask her to. When talk was inevitably of the escalation of the war during meals, she would place her hand on his knee under the table. Sometimes he spoke, but usually he let the talk drift around him.

The evening before they left for London, they found themselves in their temple overlooking the lake. John loved the view of the estate from the height of the temple. One direction was the lake, another the wood, another still the gardens and house. The evening was warm, and breezy, and starlit. John had read about a gruesome loss of life on the continent, but he didn't think about it more than he had to. He thought about other things. This would be the last chance to be properly alone with Anna for some time, and he wanted to make the most of it.

While John appreciated the privacy the room in the temple afforded, it was such a pleasant night, he wanted to remain in the air. He tugged Anna's hand to sit next to him on the stairs. She had looked surprised that they had walked this way at all, and now that they weren't entering, John noticed she looked disappointed. He couldn't have that. He smiled at her, looking deeply into her eyes. She nestled into his arms.

"I hate that we're leaving tomorrow. I wish the season were in winter, when it is cold and miserable here." Anna sounded a little peevish.

John unpinned her hair. She had removed that infernal ruffle. "Me too. I'm surprised we're going at all, all things considered."

Anna leaned into him, grasping his left hand in hers. "I think it more desperation to get the girls settled while…while that's still an option." Her voiced trailed, but she rubbed her face against John's neck.

John closes his eyes. Anna mustn't be afraid to mention the war to him. "I thought we were showing the Germans by keeping up appearances." He looked at her. She giggled. And sighed. And relaxed.

"You sound like Mr. Carson."

"Heaven forbid I should ever look like him." Anna shook with laughter as John pulled her closer.

Anna turned to him. "Heaven forbid indeed." Her voice had lowered. Her lips were against his neck, his ear. His ear was in her mouth, her tongue was passing over the lobe. She was back to the soft spot behind his ear. Her hands were in his hair. John wondered what he had done to deserve this. His hands moved to the front of her dress and undid the row of buttons, slipping a hand inside and passing over the tops of her breasts where they peeked out of her corset. She murmured something. She smelled like roses and Lady Mary's new powder. She was turning so she was suspended almost between his legs and the steps. John let his hand rest on top of a breast. She sighed. Her skin was so soft. If he pushed slightly, ever so slightly, he could feel more of them. The filmy bits of cloth between Anna and the corset would give way and he would find smooth, soft, milky skin. He needed to do this. If he had the patience and if he could get his thick fingers to work properly he could unhook her corset. Anna was shifting again. His fingers grazed between the layers. He felt a nipple change. Anna ran her teeth down his neck. She started on his collar and tie as she shifted. John realized she intended to be astride him. Now that was an intriguing idea. He moved his knees together to help. She swung her left leg across John's lap, settling so she was facing him. John put his arms behind her waist to draw her near. Anna raised up to arrange her skirt. She pulled it up as far as it would go. A very intriguing idea. As Anna leaned forward to re-settle herself, her knee dug into his thigh. He swallowed a scream, and gasped instead. John reared in pain, curling around his leg, as Anna fell to the ground.

It felt like fire. He grabbed it and rubbed his hand over the scar. He took some deep breaths. Anna was still on the ground.

"What? What did I do? What's wrong?" She sound concerned, confused, cross. She pulled herself up.

"I…my leg…I'm so sorry." She had hit right where the shrapnel was lodged. Why was so much of his life punctuated with cold sweats and nausea? At least it was passing quickly.

"Oh…No, John, I'm sorry. I didn't even think…" She looked away. Her voice sounded small. "I didn't know."

John took her hand. "It wasn't your fault. Sometimes it just has a mind of its own. That's all."

Anna looked unconvinced. "No, I know that it bothers you more than you say, and I usually don't think about it, but I should know to be careful. I…well, I wasn't thinking."

John chuckled. They wouldn't be able to see the stars like this in London. "My leg was the last thing on my mind as well. And it does usually make its presence known, but sometimes it suddenly hurts, especially when touched the wrong way."

Anna's eyes grew large. "But I don't want you to think about it. You've found the scar, and that's hopefully the end of it. I don't want you to think about it anymore. It won't be a problem again." John closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want Anna to think about. The admission of constant pain was enough.

"How were you wounded?"

John's eyes snapped open.

"I think you should tell me. I'd like to know."

John didn't answer. Lord Grantham was the only person who knew how he was injured. John hadn't told his mother, and he certainly hadn't told Vera. His mother knew not to ask; Vera had never bothered.

"It's just that I keep hearing how you saved Lord Grantham's life, and everyone but me seems to know what happened." Anna inched towards him again. "I'd like to know too. I think I should know."

John was quiet another minute. Six weeks until he could again breath clean, pure air.

"That I saved his life would be an example of Lord Grantham's truth." Anna turned to him. She looked as surprised as he felt. Now he'd have to tell her. He'd never told anyone. Anna nestled close. John cleared his throat and looked at the sky.

"Well, His Lordship and I were walking across the veld to our encampment with some other men." It had been a beautiful day, early morning, with birds.

"With the wide open spaces it was difficult for the enemy to attack, but the Boers knew the land so well, it was possible." John sighed as he remembered joking with another man about the rhinoceros that was eyeing them as they passed.

"A Boer sharpshooter was in a tree. I saw him. By the time I'd given the warning and aimed, he had already fired." There had been a pleasant breeze that morning. The sky was bright blue, and the roughness of the veld was oddly attractive.

"He was aiming for Lord Grantham. British officers had a high bounty, and are easy to pick out in a crowd of men. We all started firing in the direction of the tree, but the shooter must have had a second in a different direction." With the breeze it had been hard to tell.

"One of our men went down. I heard a rifle discharge and I wasn't sure where it was coming from. We fired in every direction while I threw Lord Grantham to the ground. I used to be very quick. The other men and I covered him. The bullet got me as I went down. I got the shooter before I passed out." Lord Grantham had panicked when he realized there were two shooters, pissed himself, and passed out.

"When I awoke a day later, I was told had it not been for me and my quick reflexes, we all would have been killed. And that it was safer to leave the shrapnel in my leg." John had been treated in a field hospital by medics. They'd kept him for a week, but he didn't see an actual doctor until the war had ended and by then it was safer to leave the shrapnel where it was. Lord Grantham had visited daily, promising his eternal gratitude. John had told him it was nothing; he had done what he hoped any man would have done. Lord Grantham had seen to it that John received every citation possible for his act of bravery under enemy fire. The pain had been so fierce he screamed in the night.

Anna remained quiet. It had been easier to tell her than he had thought. John smiled into her hair.

"So you see, it wasn't exactly an act of bravery. I was just in the wrong place at the right time."

Anna looked up at him. "No, you did save him, and it was brave. But they left the shrapnel in your leg? Is that what I hit?"

"Yes." And it had felt like it was burrowing further into the layers of muscle.

Anna placed her hand over the scar. "May I see it?"

John blinked fast. He looked at her. She was starring at him, unblinking. See it? He blinked again. It was jagged and red and swollen and he'd have to lower his trousers. Vera had been repulsed by it. Anna didn't understand how ugly it was, how broken and ripped his leg was. She didn't want to see it.

"I…no….why? It's very…large and red…and….why would you want to see it?"

"Well, it would help me to know what to avoid." She grinned. "And I'm not sure why, but I'd like to see it, if you'll let me." She ran her hand over it again. "I think, if I'm going to be a part of your life, I have a right to see it. I might be able to help, in some way."

John took a deep breath. It had not occurred to him that anyone would ever ask to see his scar. It was large. It was hideous. Disfiguring. Vera had made that clear. Anna would be appalled by it.

"Anna…I don't…there's no reason for you to see it." He placed his hand over hers. "You know where it is. That's enough."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "You're afraid to show me."

John blinked. He wasn't afraid. But it was so disgusting. She shouldn't see it. She couldn't understand what she was asking.

"Anna…please…you see…Vera…"

Vera had made it abundantly clear that the scar was repellant. It made him less than a man, no matter how it was earned.

"Vera did what?"

John knew there was no escape now. Curse the woman. Vera, not Anna.

"Well, I was sent back to action about a week after I was shot, so the wound never had time to properly heal. By the time the war was over and I was home again, it was a mess. I didn't need the cane then, but I had a limp, and sometimes it would open." John closed his eyes as he remembered the pain and the stink.

"Vera…well you see…our marriage was based…well…we were never like this, like you and me." John looked away. How could he tell Anna it wasn't about love?

"You mean the physical relationship was more important than anything else?" She was frank and unblinking.

"Yes. And one night in bed my leg just gave out, and the wound still oozed from time to time, and Vera…Vera made it clear if it got in the way of my…performance…again she had no more need of me. Soon after that I learned she had taken a lover." John looked at the stars. He thought he saw a bat. "She mentioned his legs were intact and he was able to support himself until things…reached their natural conclusion."

Anna was quiet. John knew she was regretting asking. Somewhere a dog was barking.

"Let me see it. Please John." Her eyes were the color of forget- me- nots. They were starting to bloom.

"Anna….you…"

"Mr. Bates, please. You need to have more faith in me than that. It is a sorry state of affairs if you think I can be put off by a large red gash. I should probably be insulted, but I love you too much for that." If he was Mr. Bates again, she meant business. He'd need to lower his trousers. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, you're right. I do have more faith in you than that."

Anna smiled. "Thank you. Now, how do we get there?" She giggled.

John removed his jacket and helped her slip his braces off his shoulders. He wanted to move into the building, but Anna protested. It was late, and there was no one else about. They would be perfectly safe. He closed his eyes as she unfastened his trousers, and raised from his seat as she eased them carefully over his hips, stopped just above his knees.

Her soft hands gently, carefully caressed his scarred and gnarled flesh.

"Oh, John…"


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

London was empty. The family had been in town nearly a month, and John was surprised they too hadn't yet abandoned the skeletal season and returned home. From what Lord Grantham had confided to him in the privacy of the dressing room, John suspected Lady Grantham had declined to return home until the bitter end of the festivities. Lord Grantham understood of course the importance of the season and how instrumental it was in the getting the girls settled, and now that Mary seemed to have fallen out with Matthew for good it was even more important, and even though he had met Cora in much the same way, with his own girls it just seemed like a market place, with no buyers. Bates was perhaps lucky not to have children. Lord Grantham's voice had gone wistful. John had murmured non-committally. If he had any idea how lucky….He knew his lordship, unlike most men of his class, loved and to an extent respected his daughters, but there was something cheap about dressing them up and parading them around town a few weeks each year. John and Lord Grantham had agreed that with the war this way of life might have to change. Sacrifices, Lord Grantham had sighed one night as John helped him prepare for bed.

John liked the emptiness of the city. Before he entered Lord Grantham's service, he had taken little notice of societal happenings, but was always keenly aware of when the crowds of the wealthy descended on London in the late spring and early summer. As a part of his world, as representatives of England, John respected the aristocracy. As people, John thought many of them had more money than sense and that it showed. John knew Lord Grantham well, and respected him, not for his status or what he might do for him, but for his humanity and his failings as a man. Even so, John was grateful for his ability to maintain an interested blank look when the man got poignant about war and family. This was the first spring in years John had been able to walk the streets at any time of day without having to step around discarded bits of finery. It was the first spring in years he was able to enter shops and galleries without having to wade through fashionable people wondering out loud what to think or what to read. He enjoyed it, but when he thought about it, it made him sad. Such a loss of life. But as Anna had said, it was better not to dwell.

The emptiness of the city meant John and Anna had more time together than usual during a visit to London. Not as much as the trip earlier in the spring, but more than in a usual London season. Most afternoons they were able to spend time together, almost always away from Grantham House and the prying eyes of the London staff. John was certain Miss O'Brien filled them in while he and Anna were away; he expected nothing less of her. So long as no one whispered about Anna.

Their adventures varied from visits to galleries and gardens to visits to shops and tearooms. It was so natural to walk and talk together, John wondered sometimes if he remembered life before Anna. In the quiet of the night, he did. Like the African War, life before Anna was something on which John would rather not dwell. Seeing London with Anna was seeing it fresh.

One warm afternoon they found themselves in Kensington Gardens near the Serpentine. Though he was a bit old for it, John loved _Peter Pan_, and liked to visit the statue. Anna, though she had been nourished on fairy tales, found it too fanciful, and had grinned indulgently when John confessed his admiration of the eternal child. John stole a glance at her as he wordlessly aimed for the path that led to the statue. She was grinning indulgently now.

"Your fairy child again, Mr. Bates?" Anna had gotten better about calling him John, but Mr. Bates tended to slip out when they had been with others a great deal or when she was teasing.

"Yes, Miss Smith, my flute playing boy with his bunnies. I hope you don't mind the detour." Her eyes were so dark yet so bright.

"Never." Her teeth were so straight. Her lips were so thin, but her mouth so large and expressive. "Shall we find a seat?" Anna never suggested he rest, but always knew when to suggest sitting. John was grateful. No matter what his leg was telling him, he would never suggest sitting. It might look weak. He might look old.

They found a bench. The breeze was pleasant. Some children with a nanny passed. A large dog lumbered behind.

"Why don't you care for Peter, Anna?" Such a story of possibility and perseverance just struck John as something that would appeal to Anna.

She looked at her hands. Her gloves were black. John wishes they were white and flimsy. "It isn't that I don't care for Peter. I do. I just didn't particularly care for the story. I have nothing against Peter." She looked at him. A lock of hair had escaped its confines and was across her forehead. "I hope that doesn't affect your opinion of me."

John grinned. "I don't know….Not liking a story of adventure and possibility and magic is indeed a serious character flaw. I may need to reassess my perhaps vaulted opinion of you."

Anna's eyes flashed as she grinned at him. Her eyebrows moved quickly. "Well, in that case, I may have to see if Mr. Molesley is still interested in courting." Her voice lilted when she spoke fast. Their eyes held each others for a minute before they both fell into laughter. Anna giggled and looked at her lap. John's head tilted back and he had to catch his breath. Mr. Molesley indeed.

Anna grew serious. "I do like Peter himself, and I do see the sense of possibility, but there's something about the story that just made me so sad."

John crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head back. He wondered what it might be that made Anna sad. He saw potential, and joy, and innocence unspoilt. Perhaps that was the problem. Anna was eternally optimistic, but she was also realistic. Reality was something that had to be faced.

Anna looked towards the statue. "I think that fairies and adventure are necessary to an extent, but there comes a time when…well, when those need to be…well….Peter doesn't understand that….and poor Wendy and her daughters…and the end was so sad. So much was lost." Anna shook her head. "I'm not explaining myself very well."

John smiled at the sky. It was pale blue with fluffy clouds. Children were drowning out the birds. He thought he knew what Anna meant. There was tragedy in wasted potential, and in the transitory nature of all things in life.

A pack of children ran by, their governess still struggling with a pram and a baby. John wasn't sure if he liked children. It was one thing when his siblings were alive and they were all young and energetic together, but even then he sometimes felt like he was missing something when they were all playing together. Now they made him nervous. This group had sticks and balls. They were so loud. They might jostle his leg. John sat up straight, his body rigid. Anna ran her hand down his thigh.

"Shall we continue on, Mr. Bates? I think we've rested enough." She leaned into him when she spoke, her breath caressing his ear. She stood and looked at him expectantly. The lost boys were missing so much.

Another afternoon they visited the Victoria and Albert Museum. John liked the variety of displays. Earlier in the month they had seen the Pre-Raphaelite paintings at the Tate. John was surprised Anna liked them as much as she did. He had suspected she would prefer realism, but she was taken with the large-eyed mournful heroines. John thought most of the models were too muscular. He preferred Rembrandt, or sculpture. In March they had seen some new works by Matisse and his young friend Picasso at the National Gallery. Anna had been enthralled. John had been taken by the boldness of a painting depicting young nude women holding hands in a ring. They could have been dancing. It was not as bright as the other paintings in the gallery, nor as busy, and he kept returning to it. It was primitive, stark, abstract, real.

John's favorite section of the Victoria and Albert was the hall off the sculpture hall of replicas of buildings and statues. Anna had managed to never visit that area. It was like a warehouse of odd bits of buildings and monuments. Orange walls with Spanish churches and Greek statues. The tombs of the Plantagenets overlooked by the School of Athens. It was crowded and confusing and solid and John loved it.

He looked up the height of the Trajan column. "Isn't this wonderful, Anna? We can travel the world without ever leaving England." He was standing between the tombs of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquintaine.

Anna too looked up, her gaze flickering to the walkways above the court and the painting of Plato and Aristotle debating. "It is. I never thought I'd see these places. But all in one room…" Anna shook her head.

"It is a little dizzying. Maybe we're supposed to be getting a dose of the important bits of architectural history." John found the cathedral doors that led into solid wall particularly intriguing.

"Maybe. It is marvelous, but there's almost too much." John suspected it upset Anna's sense of order.

They found David, near another David and towering amongst the pulpits and rearing horses.

John stood close to Anna. "The late queen was so shocked by this a fig leaf was kept at hand for her infrequent visits." John leaned towards Anna, keeping his voice low. She smelled clean.

Anna giggled. "Considering how many children she had I'm a little surprised." Anna gave the statue a critical look. "He isn't that impressive."

John smiled. Anna would never be so delicate. "Maybe they blew the candles out first." Not that John would ever know.

The Nymph of Fountainebleau was above them, lounging with her stag. She looked like David with breasts. John wondered if the sculptor had ever actually seen a woman.

Anna gasped and stepped back.

"She's rather horrible, isn't she?"

Anna blinked. "She is. What's she doing with that deer?"

John chuckled. "I'm not sure, but you know how nymphs can be."

Anna blinked again. She didn't respond.

"Nymphs…lithe, petite, nimble, spirited, playful, slender, strong, sensual, hedonistic. In other words, nothing like her." Able to leap across streams and turn into trees, and toy with men to their death. In key ways, not so like Anna. She was no tease.

John couldn't take his eyes from Anna. They had observed more decorum than usual in London, and suddenly the restraint was beginning to wear on John. He noticed how her light city jacket, tight at the waist, emphasized her fine figure. The cut of the bodice drew attention to her small yet firm bosom, which appeared higher than usual. John suspected, should he ever manage to relieve her of all her protective layers, he would find a strong, slender, lithe form with pert breasts with an expanse between them just wide enough for his hand. He swallowed hard. He needed to touch her. This was not an ideal time. Maybe a small touch, one that could be accidental, if there was anyone else to see. Were other visitors lurking behind the statues? A touch could inflame him. One of the larger tombs would provide a decent cover. Just to touch her. Perhaps kiss her.

They moved on, the only sound in the hall the click of their heels and the tap of John's cane. They came to Mercury and Psyche, near a bishop and the walkway. The god was wearing his helmet and nothing else. He was in the process of lifting the maiden, also nude. The artist had captured them as Mercury was taking flight, their bodies forming one line to the sky. So intimate, even though Mercury was little better than a delivery boy in the story. So incongruous when surrounded by pieces of churches and overlooked by an angel.

"She doesn't seem to be supporting herself."

John didn't immediately respond. He was observing the curve of Psyche's hips and wondering how favorably they would compare to Anna's.

"Maybe she doesn't need to." The moment in the statue was not of capture and delivery, it was something else entirely. Something that Cupid would understand only too well. "He has a firm hold on her, and when they're aloft, she'll be horizontal in his arms." John wondered if the bishop was looking on in envy.

They walked around the statue. From other angles, the intent was more evident. This was not capture, it was not surprise; it was physical union and ecstasy. Even next to it, John was not sure which leg belonged to which figure. It was clear in a matter of seconds, perhaps away from the prying eyes of the bishop, their bodies would be joined. He looked at Anna. Her jaw was clenched. As their bodies never would be.

Again, John was curious. He would never ask. He had no right to know, but, sometimes, when they were together, he wondered. That boy, that farmhand…

Anna had not spoken. John took a step closer. And another. One more and he would be flush against her back. He ran a finger along her neck, holding his breath. He had no idea what his intentions were, but he needed to touch her. He thought her name escaped his lips like a sigh, like it did in the night.

Anna turned. No more than an inch of air was between them. They looked each other full in the face. A floor nearby squeaked. John saw something in her eyes he was certain he had never seen, mixed with the longing he knew and felt. Regret. Fear. He thought he heard the voices of old ladies. He wanted to place a hand along her face, but now he wasn't sure it was right. He did it, slowly, letting his palm linger along her jaw. Anna smiled, sadly.

"Mr. Bates…John…I'd…I'd like to go home."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

John knew he had no reason to be nervous, but he was. His mother and Anna had met, had discussed some of the more painful and regretful aspects of his life, had written. They liked each other. They always sent greetings to one another through him. His mother had made Anna a piece of lace, and she didn't do that for just anyone. There was no reason to be nervous, yet he was.

The last woman John had introduced to his mother had been Vera. She had also been the first. It had not gone well. John remembered sitting in his mother's parlor in silence as the women eyed each other like angry dogs waiting for a fight. His mother, if not warm, had been correct. Vera had been icy. Condescending. John had been quiet. He knew from the way his mother said goodbye to him that day she was, in essence, saying goodbye forever. Vera had said very little, other than she knew she wasn't, in Mrs. Bates's estimate, good enough for him, but then no woman would be. Vera added that it was a shame, considering her own father was a shopkeeper in Galway and her family descended from the old bards, whereas Mrs. Bates's people were peasants. John had realized he would be forced to chose wife or mother. Wife was really the only choice, but he didn't want to have to make it. To her credit, his mother never spoke a word against Vera until their marriage disintegrated. She hadn't had to.

John had been to visit his mother once a week during this stay in London. They did not mention their conversation from March, but John could tell from the way she looked at him, smiling to herself, that she knew he had taken her advice and relaxed. She never failed to ask after Anna. She was too direct to hint that she'd like to see her, and Anna was too polite to invite herself a second time. Mrs. Bates had finally said she knew John would never bring her, and obviously if she wanted to see that nice girl again she'd have to invite her herself. An invitation was extended to Anna, and now John found himself, for the second time in his life, escorting a young woman to formally meet his mother. He felt as skittish as he had the time he had taken Vera to meet her.

John stopped so suddenly on the sidewalk Anna bumped into him. What if they didn't have anything to say to one another? What if his mother thought Anna's accent common? What if Anna didn't approve of his mother living alone and working when and if she wanted? What if his mother didn't like Anna's dress? What if….his mother called him Johnny in front of Anna?

"I wish you weren't so nervous." Anna took his arm, briefly.

John smiled at the sky. He wished that too.

"It will be fine. We've met. You told me yourself she liked me. I liked her."

John looked at a passing cab. "Yes, but…"

"I'd like her even if I didn't love you."

John smiled. They kept walking.

He stopped again at the corner of his mother's street. It was an old neighborhood, with smaller houses, but very respectable. Boys were playing in the small park across the street. They had a dog. That fat man with the umbrella seemed to belong with one of the small boys. There was no sign of rain. That meant the dog John had seen in March with the fat man with the umbrella also belonged to one of the boys.

"Mr. Bates?" John thought it would make a better impression on his mother than John. He wanted to make certain all the proper formalities were observed. Vera had called him Johnny in an insinuating tone, and had sat too near him, once daring to look his mother in the eye as she coiled her hand over his groin.

"Anna…mother is…well…"

Anna smiled indulgently. "Your mother is kind, she's forgiving, and she's understanding." Anna leaned forward. "It will be fine."

John felt sweaty. London was so humid, so stagnant in the summer. He was worried about his mother. The shortness of breath, the slight stammer he had noticed in the spring had grown more pronounced. He was sure he should be worried, but he wasn't sure what he should do.

"I think mother's health is slipping." The dog was proving the most clever of the lot in the park.

"And you're worried." Anna smiled as one of the boys waved at her.

John blinked. "Yes."

"Well, there seem to be a few options. There's only so much we can do when our loved ones reach a certain point. Your mother adores you; that was plain to me from the moment we met. She lit up when I said I was a friend of yours. Spend more time with her."

Another cab passed.

"This seems a nice a neighborhood, and I'm sure your mother is well-liked. What if you asked a neighbor to check in on her, discretely, now and then?"

John shook his head. His mother would hurt him. "Mother is so proud, I could never…she'd know….and then…"

Anna smiled and rolled her eyes. "So pride is a family trait, is it? I wondered. Hard to deal with when you care about someone in the family, isn't it?"

John laughed. "I suppose so." They started walking again. "What do you suggest?"

"After tea have a reason to go outside. Your mother and I will be fine. Ask one of the neighbors to look in on your mother now and then." Anna grinned at him. "Discretely."

They were on the steps. John raised his hand to the knocker.

"Or there's always worrying yourself sick over something you can't change."

As the afternoon passed, John felt relieved. It was going so well. Anna liked his mother. His mother liked Anna. Sincerely. He felt foolish for having been so nervous. John found himself laughing and smiling with the two women he loved. His mother patted his cheek and called him her Johnny. John found he didn't mind. He felt his presence was unnecessary. His mother and Anna might have been old friends

John thought it might be a good time to sneak away. They would hardly notice. Maybe they'd like to be alone, though that thought concerned John a little. He cleared his throat. His mother looked at him. There was something out back she'd like him to take a look at. She thought that wall he'd looked at last week was in need of repair. Would he be a good boy and check it again so she could send for the stonemason? John stood. Of course he would. He smiled at Anna. Her eyes twinkled in response. John knew his mother knew there was nothing wrong with that wall. He'd ask Mrs. McGuinness, next door, about checking in. As John headed for the door, his mother told him Mrs. McGuinness had been asking after him; why didn't he stop in and speak to her for a minute? She and Anna would be quite alright.

Mrs. McGuinness was a childless widow who spent most of her time looking out from between her curtains. John hadn't actually spoken to her much, but from what contact he had had with her he thought her kind, caring, considerate. He suspected she was lonely, and so long as she didn't force herself on his mother this arrangement could work. She was glad to help. Mrs. Bates was a dear woman. Yes, she'd noticed little things to. Of course she'd send word immediately if anything was amiss. He could trust her completely. Glad to help. No, she knew how proud Mrs. Bates was and would never mention it. Leave it to her; it would work. How was his wife?

John blinked. His wife. He wondered that too. Vera. He blinked again. He had to answer. Vera was well. They had been obliged to take positions in different households, but that happened in service. He felt his face grow warm. The position with the Earl of Grantham was not something he felt, all things considered, he could pass up, and Vera had agreed. He was babbling. He'd tell Vera she'd asked about her. Mrs. McGuinness smiled and reassured him that she'd look in on his mother. He had nothing to worry about. John left.

He took his time walking back to his mother's house. The house, while small, was in good condition. His mother had managed to purchase it when they moved back to London after their time in Ireland after his father's death. John had lived there with his mother and his sister Margaret. Margaret had died six months after returning to London. Before her knees had grown stiff, John's mother had taken great pride in her garden. Now she contented herself with flower boxes on the porch. John looked at the sky. The afternoon was bright, and humid. He wondered why Mrs. McGuinness had asked about Vera. He wasn't aware they had met. He doubted his mother had ever mentioned her.

John paused in the door of the sitting room. Anna and his mother were seated next to each other on the settee, bent over needles. His mother was teaching Anna to make lace. Their backs were to him. Anna had discarded her hat. He never understood why ladies could wear hats indoors when men could not. Their voices were low, and fast. There was frequent laughter. Their heads bent, showing Anna's swan-like neck with a few tuffs of hair at the base, his mother's dress collar almost reaching her hairline. He heard his name. His mother hummed a little while she showed Anna an intricate step of the process. John couldn't place the tune. His wife and his mother. No. His mother and Anna. Vera was his wife. He needed to follow up with Mr. Ford about responses to his letter. Maybe he could change that. Maybe this scene before him could become permanent. His mother and his wife engaged in activity, talking, laughing, enjoying one another. His wife Anna.

The women looked up from their work as John approached. Both smiled. Anna's smile was wide and reached her eyes. Her eyes glittered. John liked her white blouse. His mother's eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled. Knowing how to make lace would help Anna when she was a full-time lady's maid. John smiled, and agreed. Anna was a natural. Her fingers were so small and quick. Mrs. Bates sighed. Her own had been that thin once. John hated to end the afternoon, but it was time for them to return to Grantham House to make sure everyone was ready for their evening engagements.

Suddenly there was bluster. Standing up, thanks, offers to help clear away the tea things, refusals of both. Promises to return, frequently. Promises of another lesson, and to practice. Promises to, if nothing else, write. John almost asked his mother why Mrs. McGuinness would ask about Vera, but decided against it. He would try to dismiss it from him his mind. That's what Anna would suggest. Anna was always right. John's mother squeezed Anna's hand. She was welcome anytime, with or without John. She patted John's cheek. They'd better be going.

Outside John looked at Anna and broke into a smile.

"All that worry for nothing." Her eyes were twinkling again.

John laughed. "You were right, as usual. My mother loves you."

"I'm fond of your mother. She reminds me of what I never had."

John brushed against her. "I'll happily share her with you."

Anna smiled. "I think I saw what you meant. Her breathing was a little labored, and she seemed to tire fast. What did Mrs. McGuinness say?"

John looked at the house where the boy and dog and fat man lived. The curtains were pulled. Maybe Mrs. McGuinness had just been polite in asking about Vera. Women were like that.

"You did ask her to check in on your mother?"

"Yes, I did." John heard thunder in the distance. "She said she'd be happy to, and she agreed to leave me out of it."

Anna smiled, and nodded. John wished there was some pretence for taking her arm. Banish thoughts of Vera.

"So what did you and mother find to talk about while I was gone?" They had not gotten far from his mother's house.

Anna smiled. "Oh, this and that." They had talked about him.

"She doesn't teach tatting to just anyone. Usually there's more of a trial period." So far as John knew, she had never taught it to anyone. His sisters had never been interested.

Anna looked up at him. Her lips twitched. "After I told her about being lady's maid to the young ladies, she asked me if I knew how to make lace. I said I didn't, but hoped to learn. She fetched her things." Anna looked down the street. "It will be very useful when I'm working on Lady Mary's trousseau." Her voice fell.

"Miss O'Brien will be jealous. This isn't a skill a she has." The thunder grew nearer.

Anna giggled. "Maybe I can teach her."

John felt his lips twitch. He looked into the sky. It had gone grey. "Her fingers are nowhere near so nimble as yours."

The sky opened. They had not brought an umbrella. Anna stopped. John fell lightly against her. She gasped. He wrapped his free arm around her waist. She turned in his arms. John was lost. Her eyes were so deep and so blue, her skin so milky and so white, her soul so light and so pure. He kissed her. In the rain in the street near his mother's house. Anna stepped closer and kissed him. John thought he saw a shape at a curtained window, peering into the street. Anna placed her hand on his neck, pushing him towards her. John dismissed that parted curtain from his mind.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

As usual following a return to Downton from London, Anna was swept into a flurry of activity by Mrs. Hughes. John saw her only at meals for three days. He was concerned that Mrs. Hughes was again taking her frustrations out on Anna, but when he caught Anna lingering outside Lady Edith's bedroom she said that as two maids had quit and one had been dismissed while they were away, there really was a more work than usual. Mrs. Hughes had even apologized the one time she barked at her.

The morning of the village flower show, Anna received a letter. This was unusual, and was remarked upon by Miss O'Brien, who muttered something about a degenerate brother as she looked snidely at John over her tea. John didn't respond, though he looked at Anna. Her face was lined, and she sighed as she folded the letter and put it in her pocket. She tried to smile as she turned to John. Lord Grantham's bell rang. John hoped Anna would share her news with him. He had hoped the letter was from Gwen, but based on her reaction, it wasn't. He made his way upstairs.

John didn't see her again until it was time to leave for the flower show. She had missed luncheon, which was not unusual. She had changed her dress, and was wearing the new hat she had purchased in London. John thought he noticed an Irish lace pattern peaking out from the collar of her jacket. They lingered behind the others on the road. Daisy was walking with William, just ahead. Anna was lost in thought.

"Do you think the Dowager Countess will let old Mr. Molesley win again this year?"

Anna looked startled. She blinked rapidly. "What? Oh…well…maybe she'll give someone else a chance."

John could see her mind wandering again. He wished she'd tell him what was in that letter. Her demeanor had changed immediately upon reading it, and John wanted to know what news was troubling her. He wanted to let her know he'd like to help, if he could, that he'd like to know. John sighed. He realized he'd have to ask. A lone bird was chirping. Loudly. The day was grey and still.

"Anna, you seem…distracted." Was the bird following them? "Is something bothering you?" William and Daisy had disappeared from view. "Was there bad news in your letter?"

Anna was silent for a minute. "My sister in law is expecting. Again."

John looked into the woods that lined the road. Evidently this was not good news. He knew Anna's brother was not the best of husbands or fathers. He wondered if Anna's pensiveness was caused by that knowledge and consequent concern for her sister-in-law, or if it was rooted in some other sentiment. Jealousy, perhaps. Anna was not likely to have children.

"Again?"

"Again. This will be her ninth." Anna looked at her hands. "And my brother hasn't worked in months. He…well.. has a hard time keeping work."

"Poor thing." John pictured a woman, haggard and worn from child bearing, in a squalid dwelling with dirty children, fighting the advances of her brute of a husband.

"She's as bad as he is when it comes to drink." Anna sighed. "They want me to come home and stay with them when the baby comes."

John's heart stopped. His feet stopped as well. "Permanently?"

Anna laughed, grimly. "Goodness, no. Just to take care of my nieces and nephews while she's down."

"Will you?"

Anna looked around. The clouds were parting. Blue was peaking out. "I don't want to. I don't like my nieces and nephews. In fact, I don't really think I like children at all."

John looked at her curiously. He could see Anna with children; perhaps as a teacher or governess. It just seemed a natural fit. She had a gift for comforting, for nurturing, for being positive and caring. The small and weak should naturally be drawn to her.

"They just seem to run and make noise and never listen. But I've never been around many children, and I've never taken care of a baby."

"I thought all country girls were born understanding childcare." John grinned at her.

Anna smiled. "I was the youngest, and we had no extended family, and my mother was so disliked in Haworth no one ever called on her to help with babies. So I'm in blissful ignorance of the whole bloody business. Luckily I'll never have any."

John didn't detect any particular wistfulness in her voice. He was glad; he had never wanted children. They had reached that spot in the road where Anna had confessed her love. John brushed against her, light caressing her hand. She looked at him and smiled slowly.

"So will you go? It would be very easy to not be available."

"No, I won't go. I just wish they hadn't asked. Part of me feels like I should."

They had arrived at the village hall. Lady Sybil smiled brightly at them as they entered. Old Mr. Molesley again took the prize. Perhaps the Dowager Countess was making up for all the years she knew he should have won. They resumed their conversation on the walk home. The family would be out for the remainder of the day, so there was plenty of time for a leisurely stroll. The day had turned bright, with a breeze. John was puzzled by Anna's declaration regarding children. He had no reason not to trust her words, but her nature was so nurturing, so giving, motherhood seemed like a natural fit. They found a bench in the shade near the pond.

"Are you sure, Anna? You've never wanted children?"

Anna raised an eyebrow. "I thought we had this conversation last August. How many times do I have to tell you I'm sure?"

John smiled. "I suppose in some sense we did. You said you'd never dreamed of having a family. I would argue that that's somewhat different from wanting."

Anna looked straight ahead. She shook her head, slowly. "I wouldn't. Dreams are a form of a want." She removed her jacket. Her blouse had a single button on the back, at the top of the neck, exposing just an oval of creamy skin.

"Maybe I'm not explaining myself as well as I could. Most women, if married, have children. It doesn't follow that those children are always desired by the women. Women are trapped." She removed her hat. "They can either be wives and mothers, or can work in an office or a shop or as a maid. Ladies are just as trapped, perhaps more so. Look at the pressure to produce an heir in the great families." Anna nestled against John. "Even though I clean chamber pots and carry water up flights of stairs, I would rather do that and have some bit of freedom than be married and stuck at home with children." John put his arm around her waist. "Besides, children will never be an option for me, so why consider them?"

John kissed the top of her head. How did he ever manage to become so lucky? Most women were not so practical. Most women would resent him for his inability to become unmarried. Most women wanted what they could not have. He remembered his mother telling one of his dead sisters that many women longed to be mothers but they had no knack for it at all and those who were most terrified or even indifferent were often the best.

"Does your sister-in-law fall into that category? Trapped?" John wanted to kiss that spot of skin peaking through the blouse.

Anna chuckled. "In a way. She certainly acts like her children are a burden, and I'm sure my brother gives her little choice in the matter." Anna looked across the pond. A swan glided by. "But what about you? Why didn't you and Vera have children?"

John sighed. He had wondered from time to time why they didn't, but was glad. Children would have made the disaster that was their marriage even worse. Children would have suffered needlessly. He hated suffering. Anna was watching him. Another swan swam by. He had been silent too long.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't for want of trying." They both laughed. "I always assumed we would have children. As you said, most people do, but not always. I had never given children a thought one way or another, other than taking it for granted that we would have some." He lightly stroked the bit of skin. Anna shivered. "I'm not sure I actually wanted any, but if we had had any, I hope I would have done my best to look after them. Considering how badly things went between Vera and me, I'm glad it never happened." It was just possible to slip a finger under the fabric. Even though he'd taken far greater liberties than that lately, it still gave Anna goose bumps. "I was always drunk, and Vera…well…children would have suffered needlessly."

Anna shifted towards him. "Would children have gotten you to stop drinking?" Her eyes were so wide. So trusting. She smelled like sweat and powder and roses.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." John sighed. "Stopping drinking is easier said than done." He ran his finger between the top of her collar and her hairline. "What if you met someone who made you feel differently about the possibility of children?"

Anna sighed contentedly. "Well, the only man whose children I would ever consider having isn't offering that as an option, so I haven't concerned myself with it." She turned to him. "Why waste time worrying about something that may never happen? There are so many other things we could be doing."

Anna shifted and John was forced to lean backwards so she could arrange herself on top of him. John agreed there were many other things they could be doing.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

John recognized the handwriting immediately. He didn't want to open it at the table. He wished Mr. Carson wasn't so efficient with the post. John prided himself on his ability to maintain a blank look at all times, but if Mr. Ford had sent bad news he didn't want to risk it registering on his face in front of the others.

Anna had seen it. John smiled at her as he placed the letter in his breast pocket. He needed to read it alone. Her eyes questioned him. She knew it wasn't from his mother. John took another slice of toast. His hands shook as he reached for the butter. This could be the most important letter of his life. He didn't hear William's question. Anna placed her hand on his thigh. John smiled. It would be alright. William repeated his question.

John had a busy morning. He needed to polish some shoes, mend a dinner jacket, and sort the neckties. He kept pausing to take the letter from his jacket. He'd look at it, weigh it in his hands, and then replace it and continue with his work. It was thick, and heavy. It could contain the most important letter of his life. He wondered if he dare to hope. There was nothing so cruel as false hope. He wondered if Anna would have him. He'd as much as said that he intended to marry her if he were able; she hadn't answered. Her answer might be no; she might prefer the life they had now. He'd like to offer her so much more, but she might not want it; she might not want to live with him. John closed his eyes. Sleep with him. In that nightgown. Or not in that nightgown….John opened his eyes. She said she didn't want children; children might come if they had the chance. Maybe she didn't want them to have the chance.

Anna's eyes questioned him again at luncheon. John smiled and shook his head. As they ate he reached over and placed a hand on her knee. She covered it with hers. John turned his hand over so their palms could meet. Anna spread her fingers, slowly moving them up the length of his until John curled his fingers around hers. Whatever the letter said, it would be alright.

As soon as John finished ironing the newly repaired jacket, he made his way to the folly. He knew Anna would be busy until tea, and he very much wanted to read the letter alone. He sat on the steps and removed it from his pocket. Now that the moment had come, John couldn't open the envelope. He starred at it. It could be the most important letter he ever received. A shadow fell and passed. A light breeze rustled through the trees. With a deep breath, he ran his thumb under the seal.

John exhaled. Two letters were inside the envelope. One was a typed letter from Mr. Ford, the other a sealed note from Vera. He read the lawyer's first. My dear Mr. Bates….Enclosed please find….Met with Mrs. Bates….Not at all agreeable to his wishes….Mentioned he had been seen in the company of a young woman….Felt it his business to caution him that while adultery on the part of the husband was not grounds for divorce, it would look better for all concerned if he kept his affairs discreet….Especially if anything were ever proven against Mrs. Bates….Judges tended to side with the injured party….Just a caution….Please let him know if he could be of further assistance…He was his et cetera.

John closed his eyes. Of course. He had allowed himself to hope. Of course Vera wouldn't agree. She had probably had a score of lovers, but was smart enough not to get caught. He had been seen with Anna. Anna was assumed to be his mistress. He groaned. How did Vera even know? He didn't want to read her note. He opened his eyes. Mrs. McGuinness. How could he have been stupid? He wanted a drink.

John's hand shook as he tore open Vera's note. Her handwriting was as jagged as ever. Dear John….How good to hear from him….Happy to communicate through his attorney…No need really…She knew where he was…Always did….If this was about a divorce he should prepare to be disappointed….No intention of giving him grounds….Understood he had a little blond thing….Fine with her….Understood his mother was failing….Really should stop by and see mother Bates…So good to be in touch….

John closed his eyes. Mrs. McGuinness. He cursed himself for not realizing it that day. All those questions about Vera. That moving curtain when he kissed Anna in the street. John needed a drink. The birds were driving him mad. A turtle emerged from under the stairs. John watched as it lumbered towards the pond. His leg was throbbing. He leaned his head against the wall of the building and shut his eyes.

John felt the greyness of despair begin to wash over him. Vera had won. She almost always did. She thought she had won when he went to prison for her, but John had won that one. He was rid of her then. Vera had won. He wasn't rid of her. It would always be this way. He had never really thought it would work. It was a mad idea. He had allowed himself to hope. He had no reason to hope.

A bee hovered near his ear. The sound drove John mad. He was hot. He heaved himself to his feet and swatted at the bee. It moved. He moved. John removed his jacket and tie. The bee moved. John swatted at it again. It felt so good to be free of his jacket. He ran his hands through his hair and rolled up his sleeves. The bee moved again. John removed his collar. John felt the rage beginning to boil in his stomach. He was going to kill the bee. He had to kill the bee. It moved again. He moved. It landed. John swatted. His hand was stung. He swore. The bee was dead on the ground. Rage was so clear, so logical. He picked up the nearest rock and threw it, hard, across the pond. It landed with a statisfying smack. He knew, somewhere, he was crossing a line, but the rage felt so good, so freeing. His breathing was getting short. He found a heavier rock. He threw it farther. Damn Vera. He could kill her. Like that damn bee. He could kill the bitch and be rid of her. Till death they did part. He just wanted Anna. It was more than that. It was about being free of Vera.

John lifted a log he found near the stairs over his head and launched it toward the pond with a shout. He didn't hear the soft footsteps.

"Bad news I take it?"

Anna. He turned to her.

"You missed tea. Mrs. Hughes is worried. She sent me to look for you." Anna sat on the steps to the folly. "But I was planning on coming anyways."

She had seen him lose control. She wouldn't want him at all now. She had picked up Vera's letter. She was reading it.

"Anna….I…I'm sorry." John couldn't seem to move.

She looked up. "What for? For this?" She finished reading. "What did you expect?"

John looked down. "Well….I…had hoped…."

"That you'd tell her you wanted to formally end things since you haven't seen each other in years and she'd agree? That she'd embrace the stigma of being a divorced wife?" Anna smiled.

John felt something both cold and hot inside. He felt like he was falling and couldn't stop. "Yes, I did. And apparently that was foolish. I had hoped…I had hoped that…" He felt himself choking.

Anna smiled. "No, John, it isn't foolish, it just…" Anna looked towards the woods. "She's not going to let you go without a fight."

John took a deep breath. He had to regain control. He swallowed. "I had hoped if she would agree to a divorce, you would agree to marry me. But obviously that's out of the question now. She won't agree."

Anna's head snapped to him. "So you're letting her win."

John felt something snapping inside. His mother's voice. Temper, Johnny. His voice sounded odd. "I'm not letting her win; that's just how it is. I had foolishly allowed myself to hope that this mess we're in could be resolved."

She was still starring at him. "So now you've lost hope? You've given up?"

John ran his hands through his hair. "What else is there? What am I supposed to do?" He kicked something.

"I think keeping your temper would be a place to start. This isn't productive at all. It just gives Vera power."

John hated hearing that name. Vera. It was a sharp, angry name. "I'm supposed to keep my temper when all my hopes have been killed? When I know I'll be trapped by that woman forever?" He took a few breaths. "What about you? Or were you smart enough not to have any hopes for this sorry mess?"

Anna didn't speak for a minute. She turned and blinked rapidly. Her voice was icy. "No, I have hopes, but I draw comfort from them rather than live by them. And so I haven't let Vera win." All John's rage was gone. Anna was upset. His rage was back. Vera had caused Anna pain. "Mr. Carson will be ringing the dressing gong soon. I'm going back." Anna stood and walked back to the house without waiting.

"Anna….I'm sorry….Anna." She didn't turn.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

John's evening was worse than his morning. He was fairly certain, based on Lord Grantham's puzzled expression, his responses were not appropriate to Lord Grantham's statements. Luckily the earl was too polite to comment, other than suggesting he get some rest. John stepped on Isis's tail as he left the room, and sent her yelping for cover. He had made Anna unhappy. He had ruined everything. Vera had made Anna unhappy. Mrs. Hughes noticed his stung hand and insisted on bandaging it. He tried to smile through it all, telling her it was nothing. It was starting to swell, and she threatened him with Dr. Clarkson. Supper was especially difficult. Anna looked sallow and tired. She stirred through her food. Her ruffle was crooked. She had less to say than John. Miss O'Brien looked quizzically at them and muttered something about trouble in paradise. John glared at her. Mr. Carson raised his eyebrow at her. John felt Anna's hand move into his lap. He took it. Her hands were so delicate, but so strong. Everything would be alright.

Long after everyone else had retired, John sat on a crate in the courtyard. Anna had not spoken to him, but her hand in his was comforting. She had left it there as long as she could. Hope was not lost. John had caressed it, flattened it, marveled at how small and smoother it was, linked his fingers with hers. She was right; losing his temper never solved anything. His rage had vanished as Anna walked away from him. The night air was crisp. Vera would not win. The sky was starless. He heard the door creaking, followed by soft and familiar footsteps. Anna, in her nightgown with her shawl wrapped around her, perched next to him.

"I thought you were in bed." He whispered into her hair. "It's so late." Her hair was so soft.

"It's not much later than we usually sit up." She took his hand. "And if you're not in bed, I don't want to be."

John sighed as Anna nestled under his arm. "Anna…I'm sorry…She just…and I…"

"I'm sorry too. I should have…" Her voice sounded small as it trailed off.

"No, that was exactly what I needed." John pulled her close.

"I was tempted to slap some sense into you."

"That might have helped." They looked at each other and smiled. Then kissed.

John sighed as Anna settled against him. "Hope is such a new thing for me, I didn't quite know what to do when disappointed." A bat swooped from the tower. "I should have taken my own advice."

Anna turned so she could see the sky. "You have to have hope. But in addition to hope, you have to have a plan." John looked to see if he could see what she could see. "Hope isn't always enough."

John sighed. A plan. He had heard someone, in his army days, remark that the American General Custer had a plan. It hadn't gone well. "It just, when I saw her writing and could hear her voice, and the contempt in it, seemed so hopeless."

He felt Anna shake her head. "But it isn't. We just need to be ready to fight. That's what Vera wants, and that's what she'll get." Anna turned so her lips were on his ears. "This is worth fighting for."

John knew it was, but hearing her say it confirmed it. She would say yes. If ever he were free. Everything with Vera had been a fight, even before the marriage disintegrated. John watched a cloud pass overhead. He was so so tired of fighting.

"And you won't be fighting alone." John felt his heart leap. He buried his face in Anna's hair. He could cry.

"I love you. And I'm sorry I implied you lacked hope."

Anna kissed his neck. "I appreciate that. And I have faith that Vera will, sooner or later, give you evidence. We'll just have to be patient." She picked up his hand and ran her fingers over his. "And we have to be ready. But we also have to be ready if she doesn't." She turned over his hand and drew on his palm with her finger. "And I love you too."

A fox stole into the courtyard. It looked thin and hungry. "That's the part that worries me. She's clever."

"I think, right now, the only thing we can do is wait, and be grateful for what we have. We have more than most people, most married people even, have. We have more that I ever dreamt we'd have. And it is far better than nothing. Like I've said, we just need to remember that, and be happy."

John was happy. He was content. He'd never felt so peaceful. He deserved happiness. The problem was it made him want more, much more. "You're right; this is far more than I ever thought would be possible." Slowly he trailed his fingers up her arm to her elbow. "But I want…I want more. And I want to think that more is possible." John pulled her closer, his hand gripping her just under her breast. "Do…do you?"

Anna looked away. She blinked rapidly. "Yes. Yes, I do want more."

She sighed and looked at her lap. "Sometimes….sometimes I want so much more I don't think I can stand it. Sometimes…" John heard a tremor in her voice. "But then I remember what we have. If Vera doesn't cooperate, we'll explore what other options there may be. When that time comes." Anna giggled. "My mother used to tell me that patience was a virtue."

"So did mine. I never believed her."

Anna sighed. "Sometimes though I think there's a risk of wanting something so much we focus on that, rather than on the present."

John rested his chin on her head. He was pondering her mention of other options. He would never let her be a party to adultery. He hoped Anna didn't think that was the only reason he wanted to marry her. It was certainly a factor, but far from the leading reason. He just wanted to share a life with her, on their own, not staying up too late out of doors or in disused outbuildings.

"Anna, I hope you don't think that the only reason I want to marry you is so we can…become lovers."

Silence. A cat darted out from behind another crate.

"No, I know it isn't. And I didn't suggest anything like that, did I?" She looked into the distance. "Though it definitely is a reason, for me at least."

John didn't know what to say. Again he felt his heart quiver and leap into his throat, but the fear that things might never progress was at that moment almost paralyzing. Anna leaned back against his chest, bending her neck so she could see him. She smiled. John leaned down and kissed her with such vigor she nearly slid off the crate. John pulled her to his lap. She wrapped her arms around his back, pressing herself closer as they continued to kiss. When John finally broke away he buried his face in her neck. She smelled so clean, with a hint of lavender and powder.

Bats were swooping from the turrets. John ran his hands along Anna's back and kissed her forehead. She settled into the crook of his arm and looked at the sky. John found the lump at the base of her neck and pressed the tension out of it until she gasped, his left arm wrapped tightly around her, just under her breasts.

"John, you scared me this afternoon."

He closed his eyes. Of course he had. Damn his temper. "Anna, I'm so sorry, I've fought my temper all my life. Usually I'm much more successful at controlling it, but Vera…"

"Exactly. Vera brings it out in you. That's what scared me. The fight hasn't even begun, and you were ready to give up." A dog barked from one of the cottages. "Obviously Vera knows exactly what it takes to get a rise out of you, and reacting like that, even if she isn't here to see it, just gives her power. We have to be calm, and ready. It won't be easy."

John wondered what would happen to him without Anna. The thought made him uncomfortable. "You're right. I'll work on it. I can do it."

"We can do it. If Vera wants a fight, that's what she'll get."

John chuckled. "I should teach you to play chess. Lord Grantham needs a new partner."

Anna giggled, then shivered.

"Would you like to go in?" He hoped she'd say no.

"No." John tucked her shawl more closely around her. "I want to stay here with you." He wished he hadn't left his jacket in the servants hall so he could put it on her. "I was wondering…" John hummed a yes. "Why did you marry Vera?"

John exhaled deeply. He wished he knew. Anna was looking up at him, her large eyes wide and deep. He knew why he married her. As much as he wished he didn't have to tell Anna, he knew he should try to explain what had happened. It made him look so base. Anna had said years ago that nothing she could find out would affect her opinion of him. The cat was having an altercation with another cat.

"Well, we met soon after I joined the army. Her brother had also recently joined up, and she was around much of time. She's Irish, and I knew my mother had wanted me to marry a nice Irish girl." John was never sure what reason she gave for her presence in a men-only establishment. "There was something about her…she wasn't beautiful, but she was…captivating. Exciting. I knew I should stay away from her, but I couldn't." He tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind Anna's ear. "She is a few years older than me, and I had spent my entire life reading and envisioning romances like what I found in books." Some sort of bird called.

"Did you love her?"

"No. Yes. Sometimes." Why was that a such a difficult question? "It depends on what you mean by love. I felt nothing for Vera like I do for you, but sometimes I wonder if I would be able to love you the way I do were it not for Vera." Once John realized he had married Vera for the wrong reasons, he realized he wasn't sure what love was, and had been nervous about close relationships since, fearing a similar entrapment, fearing his own judgment. Until he found Anna, and found what was lacking. Anna squeezed his hand.

"Vera and I both had high hopes for our lives, and I thought that with the energy we had when we were together, anything was possible. We married, and moved to a small place near the barracks. It wasn't anything like what I had imagined." Anna pulled his arms tighter around her middle. "We both drank too much, and we would argue, over anything, and then fall into bed. We just couldn't get enough of each other." He sighed. "We fed off the energy."

"So what happened?" The cats were at it again. John wasn't sure it was a fight.

"I was sent to Africa. All this talk of the glory and honor of war is nonsense. It is organized killing, plain and simple." John swallowed. Anna squeezed his hand. "The other men, Lord Grantham included, all seemed to have happy homes and supportive wives they could talk to. My parents' marriage had been happy, and I had hoped for the same. I expected I would be able to talk to Vera about what I'd seen and done in Africa."

"But you couldn't." Rain was imminent.

"No. When I got back, well, we had both changed." Vera was cold. John didn't want to feel anything. "I tried to tell Vera about getting shot, but all she heard was the part where I wasn't getting promoted any higher and we would never be rich." John sighed. "Her ambitions had turned to full-fledged greed. She blamed me for being wounded. I was very angry. I was angry about not being able to walk properly, about the waste of the war and the things we'd done, and drank constantly. I needed to be totally numb."

"Your mother said you thought you'd ruined Vera's life." The morning birds were starting to sing.

"My mother doesn't know the whole story, but I did make promises to Vera I couldn't keep, like a life of ease and luxury. But we never wanted for anything, we were comfortable enough." But it was never enough. "The exciting part of Vera's personality had turned. She became sharp, bitter, and her temper was worse than mine. Anything would set her off, there was no way to know." He moved Anna's braid to her left shoulder so he could put his chin on her right. "I'm fairly certain that Vera isn't well, but I was too drunk then to think much about it. As it was, we had screaming fights almost every day which always ended with her throwing things at my head." Books. Plates. Whiskey bottles. "We brought out the absolute worst in each other. I discovered she was stealing from shops and then pawning what she'd taken. She said it was because I wasn't providing well enough. I was, but she wanted more. I found she'd taken at least one lover."

"Why?..."

"Because it didn't matter. I couldn't afford to divorce her, and it wasn't important that she be faithful to me. I never shared a bed with her after that, but I didn't give much thought to what she did. Then she stole the regimental silver. That was different." The sky was lightening with that melancholy pre-dawn greyness. "I'm not sure what she thought she was going to do with it. It would have ruined my career even if I had not opted to go to prison on her behalf. Everyone knew me for a drunkard, but this disgraced me. I was very good at drinking. There are weeks I don't remember, but I know I did what I was supposed to be doing. The military prides itself on honor and discipline, and Vera destroyed any semblance of that in my household."

"If she destroyed your career, why did you take the blame?" The cats emerged from behind the crate seeking breakfast.

"Vera had already ruined me, and I think in a moment of sober clarity I realized getting out was the only option. I thought it might be time to feel something. Prison gave me that option. It forced me to stop drinking, and I got away from Vera." He hadn't seen her since. "She never came on visitation day, which was preferable. She didn't write. I had hoped I was done with her." That didn't sound the way he wanted it to sound. "But I will deal with her, gladly, so we can be together."

Anna tilted back her head and kissed him. "And we will be together. But now, Mr. Bates," her eyes sparkled. "The sun is coming up. Shouldn't we go in before we scandalize Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, Miss Smith, I would hate to be responsible for his death." Neither moved. "So the plan is to be patient?"

"Can you think of a better one?" She ran her hand down his leg as she slid to her feet.

"No. And it will be worth it. I would be lost without you."


	34. Chapter 34

**Gentle Readers: The following chapter puts at least one foot over the somewhat fuzzy line into M territory. I am, however, hesitant to up the overall rating for a host of reasons. That said, the following material contains adult themes. If you are too young, too old, or feel that I haven't allowed John enough privacy while he grapples with these psychological and physiological issues, please turn back now**.

Chapter 34

John didn't hear the door open, but the thunder was loud and he was engaged in his reading. He looked up as his candle blew out, and she was at the foot of the bed. She was beautiful, illuminated by lightning in her white nightgown. John could almost imagine it sopping wet, clinging to her, revealing all her intriguing curves and crevices. As he opened his mouth to speak she put her fingers to her lips and shook her head. Silence was better. They didn't need words. As Anna slowly pulled the nightgown over her head, John let his book fall to the floor. Affirming as Shelley was, he could wait.

Anna climbed atop him and slowly ran her hands down his body. Her kisses were so slow, so deep, he ached. In that moment John could almost believe in God. Or at least embrace Shelley's pantheistic vision. John settled his hands on her hips, letting one trail up and down the curve of her spine. She arched her back slightly, and groaned at his light touch. John took the opportunity to let a hand wander to the flat expanse between her breasts. He was right; they were perfectly fitted to his hands. As John began to explore them, she slipped away from him. Like a mermaid. Like a nymph. Like a faery. She hadn't slipped away; she'd slid lower. That naughty girl. Her nimble fingers, her delicate but large mouth were exploring, tickling, teasing lower. John wondered if he had died and through some miracle had attained paradise. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. As she took him in her mouth, he had a moment of clarity. He would be in no shape to reciprocate later, and he couldn't have that. It wouldn't be right. He pulled her up and turned her so they could taste each other at the same time.

And then…John sat up with a start. She was gone. She wasn't gone; she had never been there. Even knowing this, he reached for her. She should be there, resting, naked, on her side of the bed, under the blanket because the breeze from the open window and the exertion would make her suddenly cold. Shivering. Damp with a sheen of sweat. She would need to press against him to keep warm. John would be hot and uncovered. They wouldn't need to talk, but if they did, a whisper would be too loud. They could kiss, mingling their scents and tastes, share a pillow, as they drifted into a deep and blissful sleep. All things by a law divine with another's being mingle.1

John groaned. The dreams were becoming more frequent, and more and more provocative. His shorts were askew and damp. The sheet was damp and starting to crust. He was so glad he didn't have to share a room. That would be intolerable. He'd leave his window open so the odor would dissipate. He would do at least part of his washing this week so as not to embarrass the laundress. She'd likely encountered worse, but a certain amount of dignity was at stake. This hadn't happened to him with such regularity since he was a boy. He hadn't had to remove a stain in some time; a little practice never hurt.

John got out of bed and limped to the window. Dawn was just appearing on the horizon. It had that bright wet grey look that followed a summer storm. He leaned out the window and took a deep breath. It smelled promising. The dreams were becoming more and more frequent. They had stopped for a while, about this time the previous year, when Anna had ceased to be a faery. In recent weeks the dream Anna had reappeared with all her most fey qualities intact. The true Anna had become more provocative as well. John wondered if it was the knowledge that they both wanted more, that more could be possible. Or that more might never be possible. Anna had mentioned alternatives. John wondered what she had meant by that. Alternatives. She understood they might never be lovers. John would never put Anna at risk in that way. Some societal rules needed to be obeyed, even if it meant thwarting nature. The world was a cruel place, especially for women. But alternatives. What he had just dreamt was an intriguing alternative. He wondered if he could possibly suggest it. Anna would understand. He thought she would understand. He couldn't suggest it. There was no good way to introduce the topic. It was something that had to come of the moment. He sighed and arched his back. It was stiff. The trouble with the moment was one thing tended to lead to another.

John put on his dressing gown and gathered his towel and soap and razor. He had time for a proper bath before everyone else was up. The warm water felt wonderful on his stiff back and leg. The trouble with one thing leading to another was that it was difficult to stop. As he had said to Anna in the spring, he was at risk of not stopping, but there came a point when it was necessary. John found it increasingly difficult to reach find that point when they were secluded, in the small hours of the day, in their temple, open to the sky. Several times since their discussion about Vera things had become so heated John wasn't sure he cared if they stopped, so lost he became. Their explorations of each other had taken a turn. Sometimes it seemed almost desperate, as if with Vera's threat to their happiness they needed to bond as closely as possible. On these warm evenings, John had been pleased to learn that Anna liked to unbutton the front of her dress and let it slide off her shoulders as a means to stay cool. It had been natural to run his hands along the white skin, encouraging the dress to slide further down, exposing her arms. From there it had been only natural for Anna to remove her arms from the sleeves.

John closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the tub. He remembered the first time he unhooked the front of her corset. It looked so uncomfortable. She had sighed and closed her eyes and leaned back while he slowly worked it open and off. Once she was unconstrained John ran his hands along her sides, her back, smoothing and loosening. As he trailed his fingers, and then his lips, from her jaw to the hollow at the base of her neck she inhaled deeply, groaned softly. John had held his breath as he slipped his hand between her camisole and her skin. They were both silky and pure white. white. Her breasts were small and firm and wonderfully responsive. She leaned her head on his shoulder so she could kiss him while he explored. John slid a hand up her leg, circling at the back of her knee, unfastening her garters and sliding down her stockings. Usually at about that point Anna would remove his hand and focus all her energies on him, usually by climbing astride his lap. Once he allowed himself to pass her knee, gently up her inner thigh, and as he watched the sensations play across Anna's face he thought he saw something that resembled fear. It had concerned him, but in the same moment he became distracted and refocused.

The water had gone clammy. John raised himself from the tub, dried, and commenced shaving. The glimpse of fear had concerned him. Anna had so successfully distracted him, he hadn't thought at the time to tell her he knew when to stop, that he'd stop whenever or wherever she needed him to. The trouble was stopping was becoming increasingly difficult. John nicked himself. That troubled him. He didn't like the feeling that he might lose control. He needed to maintain control. Of himself. He was happy to let Anna control their activity.

John was the first at breakfast. Anna was the last. She was still pinning her cap when she entered. Her arms over her head, her chest raised. She smiled and called him Mr. Bates in that soft, lilting way. Daisy stopped her with a question. Anna turned to answer. Daisy dropped something. Anna bent to pick it up. Her hand went to the knot of her apron, making sure it was tight. John loved the way the apron drew attention to her narrow waist. He wished the hall were empty. He would sneak up behind her and press himself against her back and put his arms around her waist and feel the curve of her back pressed against him. He wished, for his sake, Anna would stand upright again. This was too much. Mr. Branson was saying something. He knew he was starring.

Somehow John made it through the morning. Anna was very busy as another maid had given notice, preferring to work in a factory. John only saw Anna once, when she had to rush around him on the stairs. She was late to luncheon and left the table quickly in response to Lady Mary's bell.

John was glad Anna was busy. He had an errand in the village on behalf of Lord Grantham. Lord Grantham required a new type of ointment for his piles, which had been especially troublesome of late. While Anna was as discreet as he was, it was the sort of mission he'd rather undertake alone. He hoped the walk would do him some good. He needed to get rid of this energy, this tension. John longed for the days when both of his legs functioned properly. A good brisk run would do him a world of good. Chopping wood could be helpful, but he'd need to be able to stand firmly on both legs. John was very good at lifting heavy objects, or had been, and the way he'd kept up with his arm strength he still should be, but again, he would need both legs firmly on the ground to lift and move without injury. He passed the river. Maybe he could take up rowing. As it was he went by the long path.

The remainder of the day passed in much the same manner. The walk didn't help much. If anything the fresh air and birdsong and mild exertion increased his desire, his lust, his torment. The carefree sounds of the birds, the wind in the trees, the gentle waves in the river reminded John that he was alive. His reading the previous evening had glorified the connectedness of life and nature and the importance of acting as nature dictated. It was not possible for him to act as nature dictated. The fountains mingle with the rivers and the rivers with the oceans. Why not him with Anna? What if he allowed himself to forget the consequences. Plenty of people never felt any repercussions. This was a dangerous path. John prided himself on his ability to control his desires and his actions. It was willpower that kept him from drinking. It would take greater willpower to keep him from succumbing to his desire for Anna.

After he had finished with Lord Grantham for the evening, John walked to what he now thought of as their folly. He wasn't sure if Anna would join him or not. He hoped she would. Their long evenings were not usually planned. They tried to always have a few minutes together every evening, but she respected his need to sometimes be alone as much as he respected hers to sometimes go to bed before two in the morning. Some nights she was waiting for him, others he for her. Some nights when she was particularly exhausted John sent her to bed after a relatively chaste kiss in the courtyard. He had learned that while Anna could function quite well on little sleep, too many late nights in a row tended to make her peevish.

He hoped she wouldn't. John wasn't sure he trusted himself. He loosened his tie. He did trust himself; that was part of the problem. He removed his tie and collar. He trusted himself to behave appropriately. The jacket was next. He trusted himself to do whatever Anna wanted. Then the cufflinks. He trusted himself to get to a certain point, and stop. He rolled up his sleeves. He trusted himself to be frustrated, as that certain point moved as with the increasing intensity of each encounter increased. Were the buttons on his waistcoat getting tight? He hoped not.

The night was humid. It was going to storm again. John felt refreshed as a light breeze passed. He ran a hand through his hair, loosening it. He suspected Anna felt as frustrated and as interested as he did. Sharing it made it worse. If it were just him, he could handle it, but knowing she was just as disappointed when they stopped, knowing she knew they had to stop made it worse. He was disappointing her. A blanket was sitting on the bench in the room in the folly. Anna must have snuck it away from the stack to be sent to the hospital. John smiled. Maybe he should talk to her about this. Maybe it would be better to stop. He couldn't stop. Alternatives. He couldn't possibly suggest that there were other places they might kiss each other. Maybe it would occur to her. John leaned in the door of the little room. He wondered if Anna understood how something that could start so slowly, so gently, could turn so strong and violent. With Vera, it has almost always been an act of violence, an overflow from some sort of altercation, born of power and a need to dominate each other. Nothing about Anna could inspire violence or domination. With Anna, it would be born of love, of equality. And in all likelihood he would never have the chance to know.

A twig snapped, breaking the stillness. John turned towards the sound. Anna was smiling. John felt his face slowly transform to match hers. It almost always happened when she was near; he wondered if anyone had ever noticed. She wasn't wearing her apron and cap. She had loosened her hair, though it was still pinned close to her head. The top buttons of her dress were unfastened, and as she approached she was unbuttoning her sleeves. John found these small movements mesmerizing. The way her elbow bent, the way her wrist turned so she could reach the buttons, the way her nimble fingers gracefully opened the buttons. As much as John treasured the idea of someday uncovering Anna for himself, he was concerned his large thick fingers would never manage the tiny buttons.

John dropped his cane and fell against the column of the temple as Anna wrapped her arms about his neck to kiss him. She was on her toes, he was leaning precariously. He preferred to not kiss her too vigorously from this angle, but she didn't seem interested in moving, so John settled as much of his weight against the column as he could and lifted her against him. They were both grinning when they parted.

"I've wanted to do that all day."

"I know." Anna pulled his hand, leading him into the room.

"You did, did you?" John stumbled and caught himself. He was almost nervous. Her eyes had never had quite this glint before. He was excited. He was intrigued by the possibilities they suggested. "May I ask how you knew?" She was pushing him back, urging him to sit on the low backless bench. She raised an eyebrow and twitched the corner of her mouth. He loved her. He could not do without her. "And did you steal this blanket from the pile destined for the hospital? I'm shocked, you naughty girl." He grinned.

"I thought we needed it as much as the patients. They'll never know." She was lowering herself astride his legs. John had a fleeting thought that this might be dangerous. Anna was smiling. "You've seemed distracted all day." She was pushing his braces off his shoulders. "I thought I could help you to relax." She started unbuttoning his shirt. He put his hands on her hips, his lips to that soft sensitive spot behind her ear. Her hair was wispy there. Anna gasped and pulled away long enough to push his shirt from his shoulders. She ran her hands lightly over the muscles at the top of his arms. John closed his eyes and tilted his head to the left. Her nimble fingers started kneading the back of his neck, working the tight muscles. John felt like he was floating. Blissful. Peaceful. Her hands moved to his shoulders. He groaned. Her deft fingers hit and loosened the knots perfectly. This felt entirely too good. He opened his eyes. Her bosom was at the perfect angle for his mouth.

John loosened his grip on her waist and slid his hands up Anna's torso, stopping just under the swell of her breasts. Anna secured herself against him with her legs, pulling at her skirt so she could settle closer. This could be very dangerous. John unfastened the remainder of the buttons and slid his hands into the opening, running them back and forth over the soft fabric of her underthings. It was Anna's turn to lean her head back and groan. John pushed the hideous dark dress from her shoulders, exposing her milky arms. She gripped his shoulders as he ran his fingers to her the bend in her arm and back. John smiled as when she caught her breath as he began to unhook her corset. He was amazed by how silent the night was. No sounds but theirs. John watched her face closely as he made her breasts change under by his touch under the silky fabric. He didn't need to stop yet. She'd let him know when to stop. He untied the little bow that secured the top of the camisole and opened the buttons. A wide strap slipped off her shoulder as Anna tightened her grip with her hands and legs and leaned into him. She stretched up, arching so his mouth could perfectly find a nipple. This could become very dangerous, but not yet.

John kept an arm securely around her while the other hand was at her breast. They were perfect. Beautiful. Elegant. Excitable. He could do this all night. Anna seemed to agree. She'd gone a little limp in his arms, her eyes half-closed and unfocused. John wondered if he dared shift her skirt. It was really in the way. He moved a hand to where it was bunched and reached under. She wasn't wearing any stockings. Their eyes met as he discovered this. What else wasn't she wearing? He slid up to her inner thigh before she shifted. She was stopping him. She was standing up. He'd gone too far.

"This is in the way." He hadn't gone too far. She pushed the dress over her hips and stepped out of it. "That's better." She was bathed in moonlight. The ugly black dress in a heap on the floor of the temple, Anna in her petticoat and open camisole shining in the darkness. It was much better. She was transformed. John wondered what deity the temple was supposed to honor. Diana perhaps.

John wanted to say something. That she was beautiful. He loved her. He'd give her whatever she wanted. Instead he reached for her. His hand on her cheek, his thumb across her lips. She took his thumb between her lips, her teeth, her tongue flicked the length of it. John felt his eyes roll back. She moved his hand and did the same with each finger in turn. This was perfectly safe. She ran her hands along his bare arms while she used her tongue on his fingers. This was very dangerous. She was pushing him down. She was pulling off his undershirt. His hands found her breasts. She sighed. He smiled. Her mouth found his neck. He was on his back. She was on top of him. She was kissing him. Deeply. Her hands were in his hair. She was kissing a trail from his neck down his chest, down his stomach, to his waist. She was running her hands over his trousers. She raised an eyebrow and twitched a quick smile crossed her lips. Her hands worked fast at the waistband, they worked gently inside. She knew exactly what she was doing. That naughty girl. A breast peaked out of her top. John caressed it as she reached into his trousers, into his shorts, pushing them away from his hips. She was really very strong.

John discovered, as Anna resettled herself astride him, closer, that she wasn't wearing much under her petticoat at all. He heard something like a growl escape one of them, but he wasn't sure whose it was. Part of his mind realized just how dangerous this was. Part of it didn't care. She was almost as close as possible. The way she was rocking against him. All he needed to do was move a little, push a little. All she needed to do was move a little, over a little. There were so many places he wanted to put his hands, his mouth. Her throat. The way her neck was tilted back. The way her arms were wrapped around him. The way she was starting to breathe. The way her legs were splayed against and around his waist. The way her dainty breasts bounced. The smell of her sweat. The night had no other sounds or smells or sights. It was like floating in the darkness. Perfectly alone together. Her hair was starting to fall. John loved the feel of it, but he liked it back, out of the way. He grabbed her tightly, and started to push. Anna made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. It wasn't real.

And then something clicked. It was real. She wasn't stopping him. This was the true Anna, not some dream faery figure. She wasn't stopping him. He would have to stop. The consequences would be horrible. Not married. No prospects of being so. Ruined. Shamed. Shunned. She deserved better than adultery in an outbuilding. Bastard child. Bastard child that would be adored by its father, but resented by its mother. Bastard child paying for the carelessness of its parents. Bastard child that would drive them apart. John deserved better than adultery in an outbuilding. She wasn't stopping him. He'd have to stop. If they did this they'd do it again. And again. Until something bad happened. It would become about finding places, sneaking, hiding. No conversation. Just cheap debauchery. Her back was arched, her breasts peaking at him from under her camisole. If he leaned forward his mouth could catch them. Self control. And then it happened.

Or rather, it didn't happen. John was humiliated. Anna looked surprised. It was the sort of thing that happened to other men. Anna looked frustrated. Angry. It was the sort of the thing that happened to old men. Disappointed. John didn't know what to say. That was not how he had intended to stop. Anna had slid off and was rearranging her petticoat. Buttoning her top. She was next to him. Her eyes kept darting to him. John knew but he couldn't bear to look at her. He was looking down. It was so small and useless, so flat and lifeless. So shriveled and limp. So unexpected. So useless.

Anna cleared her throat. "That was unexpected."

1 Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Love's Philosophy"


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Unexpected. Yes. Unexpected was exactly what it was. John reached for his trousers. He hadn't looked at Anna. He wanted to maintain some small grasp on what was left of his dignity. That had never happened before, and he had no indication that it might be an issue. Unexpected and humiliating. It had been years since he'd actually been with a woman, but he didn't think lack of practice was the issue.

John felt slightly better with his trousers on. It was marginally less humiliating. Anna. He couldn't look at her. John took a deep breath and leaned forward, taking his head in his hands. Anna. What had they almost done? What had he almost done? He couldn't bear to look at her. He had intended to redirect her attentions, but the feeling of her warm, smooth thighs around him had redirected his thoughts until it no longer mattered.

Eventually he would have to look at her. She hadn't spoken since. John was a little surprised she was still there. Most women would be revolted, angry, to see, to feel the strength turn to limp weakness. John took another breath. The disappointment. The humiliation. But it had to be. They had needed to stop long before that happened. A wind picked up and blew the door shut. Total darkness. Anna reached for his hand.

They had needed to stop. John hadn't wanted to stop, but he knew it was up to him. Anna, while she usually took control of their activities, never took control of the ending. Ending without resolution. He needed to address that. He knew she knew, she understood, how devastating it would turn if they hadn't stopped, but talking about it, talking about how it happened, was something else entirely. He thought he had better control. He had been in control. His mind and his body had been in deep conflict and his mind won. Thankfully. Embarrassingly. Anna seemed to be trembling. It was safe to look at her in the dark.

John looked up and cleared his throat. "You're allowed to be disappointed."

She was shaking. Her voice was shaking. John didn't think she was crying, exactly. "Oh John, I'm not disappointed. I'm relieved."

And she was in his arms. As she buried her face into his neck, John pulled her tight. She was shaking. She was sobbing. He had frightened her. She jumped at a sudden clap of thunder. John pulled her tighter, and kissed the top of her head. Anna burrowed into him. They pitched backwards, onto the blanket. Anna was calming. John ran his hands over her back.

"This blanket was a good idea." He was whispering. He couldn't think what else to say. "It's very soft." He felt Anna smile. Her eyes were clenched shut, but she was loosening her hold on him. John kept an arm around her, the other under their heads. Anna didn't seem inclined to talk, and John didn't know where to start. The storm outside was fierce.

Anna pulled her arms close to her, balling her fists between them. She opened her eyes. John's heart fell to see how red they had become in such a short time. He stroked her cheek. Gently. She took a deep breath and smiled. It started slowly and weakly, but grew into the large and honest smile John knew and loved. John tried to match it. Anna covered his hand with hers.

"Anna, I'm sorry." A whisper seemed too loud. She closed her eyes and swallowed. "That wasn't want I meant to do." He'd meant all along to explore the different applications of hands and mouths, it just got away from him. "I was going to stop." He thought. "I wasn't going to stop like that." Under his control, with resolution. "I'm sorry I scared you." That was the painful part. He had frightened her. He hadn't meant to. He'd gotten carried away by his passions, by her passions. There was a point when he wasn't entirely sure he was going to stop.

Anna opened her eyes. She was so pale. "No, I'm sorry." She unclenched her fists, letting her hands rest against John's chest. "You didn't scare me." More thunder. "I scared me."

John pulled her closer. Anna had gotten carried away and he had been carried with her. He had acted like he might not stop. The roof was leaking, but not near them. John felt unusually cold. Anna's voice was still shaking. "You usually stop before it might become…difficult." She swallowed. She took her time. "And I don't have to worry about stopping." John wasn't convinced he wasn't the cause of her fear.

"But we've never been quite that close before." Unbearably close. The feeling of her softness, her warmth, wrapped around him, moving against him. His hands, his mouth on her. Hers on him. Not getting her out of her petticoat added a certain wanton hedonism.

Anna snuggled closer to his chest. "But you did stop. You always stop me. I knew I wasn't going to." She trailed a hand down his chest. "But you always stop, and I trust you." John felt her swallow. "I shouldn't have been scared."

He had to tell her. She shouldn't trust him. "I wasn't sure I was going to stop until I did."

"But you did."

He smiled. "Yes, but that wasn't how I wanted to stop." A wind gust blew the door open. John hoped it wouldn't rain inside. "Anna, I've never had such a hard time turning aside. I've never wanted anyone more."

Anna's chin was resting on his shoulder. It should have been uncomfortable. "I know. But if you hadn't stopped it would have been awful."

"It would have been wonderful." John was speaking into her ear.

"It would. But the consequences…." Her eyes closed again. She took a shuddery breath. "Oh John, we'd both be ruined." John pressed his hand into her back. "It would be so good we wouldn't be able to stop and because of how we live here we'd have to sneak and hide and find places and I don't want to sneak or lie and we'd be so ashamed and we're better than that and then I'd get pregnant and then ….And then…."

"And then we'd be without options, without a home, a future, and we'd grow to resent each other, not to mention the poor baby? That our love would turn into something ugly?" That was a frightening thought.

Anna didn't answer. Her large eyes were wet. She fit against him like a missing piece. "That's what made me to stop." He smoothed a loose bit of hair behind her ear. "And you're right; considering that most things only improve with practice, once we got started stopping would be impossible." Her smile quivered. "I hate that we have to stop, but I hate the idea of the consequences even more."

Neither spoke. The storm echoed through their silence as they stared at each other. This was how it should be. Anna's head next to his. Sharing the same thoughts. Saying much in saying nothing at all.

"I was afraid…." They both smiled, remembering last summer. "I was afraid that I'd disappointed you, or…or frightened you…or you thought I was a failure." John barely heard his own voice.

"Oh John. No." Anna's eyes widened. Compassion. Love. Trust. "No, John, please don't think that. We had to stop." She wrapped an arm around his back, pulling him to her. "We may not have wanted to do, but we had to, and luckily some part of you made that decision."

Unbidden, Vera sprang to mind. She would have berated him. Withheld until he proved himself. She had indicated he was less than a man the time his leg gave out when he was back from Africa. Had something like this ever happened with her, John wasn't sure he could have recovered. Vera wanted power, she wanted to control him. Everything had been such a struggle. Vera would manipulate and offer and perform and withhold until she had what she wanted. John never knew what she wanted. Anna loved him. She wanted his pleasure, his happiness. For better or worse. She was kissing him. Everything was natural. She was pressing into him again. He could have rolled so she was on top, but he so loved the feeling of their clasped hands over their heads, their shared space on the blanket, her head tucked just under his arm. She was kissing him. The rain was slackening. She felt so good. His leg was cramping.

"Anna…" He hated to stop her. Her free hand was against his chest. Her mouth was at his neck. "Anna…we need to move." John loved the feel of the curve of her waist. So gentle. His leg was starting to seize. "Anna…my leg…if I could just…" He pulled away, slightly, trying to rearrange himself. Stopping was so difficult.

John thought he detected a flash of irritation on her face before it turned to concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…" A bird flew in the open door.

John rolled onto his back and stroked her cheek. Stopping twice in one night. "You're alright, it isn't you. I just can't stay in one position for too long, especially in the damp." He bent the bad leg, stretching his arms over his head to flex his lower back. It felt so good as his spine realigned and the tension left his hip. He groaned. Anna was starring. John lowered his left arm to pull her back to his side. She nestled against him with her head on his shoulder. His hand rested in the curve of her back. She smelled like roses and sweat and lust. The air was fresh with rain. Her arm draped across his chest. John wondered, if after everything, she was falling asleep. There could be no more perfect sensation than that of her small and warm body, trusting and secure, against his, asleep in his arms. John ran his fingers over the skin just above her camisole.

Embarrassing as it had been, John was relieved by what had happened. Progressing that way wasn't what either of them wanted. He was unsettled by his loss of control. He would need to address this with Anna. Taking care of things on his own, especially knowing she had the same desires, was depressing. Lonely. He still wasn't entirely sure how it had all happened. He was sure. He had allowed himself to lose control. He was tired of restraint, and Anna's own loss of control spurred his. He closed his eyes and let a gentle breeze waft over him. He was grateful something in some part of his mind ended things. He could not be the cause of harm to Anna.

The rain started again. Gentle this time, no thunder. John wondered what time it was. So long as they were back to their rooms before dawn. Anna said she had scared herself; what about the other times when John thought he saw a glimmer of fear? Maybe she really was concerned he'd take advantage of her, especially knowing how strong her desires were. It wouldn't be difficult, if John's thoughts ever went in that dark and unseemly direction, to force her. It didn't make sense. Her intentions tonight seemed muddled, especially the lack of underthings and her removal of his trousers. That discovery had encouraged him. The memory of it sent a shudder down his back. A good shudder. He made a low sound and pressed her close. That discovery had suggested so many intriguing possibilities.

She stirred against him. "I like how your chest vibrates when you do that." She wasn't asleep. "It feels so good."

"You feel good." John smiled as he buried his face in her hair. He felt her smile. John was so afraid of hurting her, of scaring her. It would have been so easy. So wrong. He was so glad some small part of his brain had stayed engaged. He had scared himself.

"John…sometimes….sometimes I'm afraid I won't let you stop." Silence. "I know that you will, and I…I don't want you to…and…and it is so hard to let you and sometimes I'm afraid that I might try to make you…not stop." The wind was picking up. John could see a tree across the pond swaying.

"It is more and more difficult to stop." A bird shrieked. "Tonight I frightened myself." John could feel Anna's heart beating, slightly faster. "I was thinking there's a building tension we need to address before we put ourselves at greater risk." Where were her underthings?

"Exactly." Her delicate hand was twirling down his chest. "You see, I had an idea." Her hand was going lower. "You've had this look this last week, and I can feel your eyes on me when we're working and I know what you're thinking." John felt his body relaxing. "Sometimes I wonder if the others know it too." Unlikely. "I try not to let it distract me, and usually it doesn't." Her voice was low and tempting. "But sometimes you're all I can think about. How you feel, how you smell, how you taste. Your textures." Her lips were at his ear. Under his ear. At that soft spot behind his ear. "And I think of how much I love you, and how I want you to feel good." Even lower. "How I want to help you feel good."

John felt like he was dissolving just listening to her. She was on top of him again. The hand that wasn't behind his head held her at her waist. Her hands were at his neck, his shoulders, his chest, teasing at his waist again. She just wanted pleasure. His pleasure. Her pleasure would be his pleasure. His would be hers. She seemed to have recovered from their fright. He could feel himself recovering, quickly.

"How do you propose to help?" His voice was rough and breathless. Anna gasped as he pressed against her, trailing both hands down her sides and hitching up her petticoat to her knees, up to her hips. She was pressed between his spread legs. He kissed her neck, glad for the high collar of her work dresses.

"Well…." She raised herself above him. John liked the twinkle in her eye. He could just see the tops of her breasts. They were shiny and firm. "Remember that house party I attended with Lady Mary and Lady Edith last month?" He did. Insipid women, nervous maids, rain, small damp country house. "One of the maids was French, and she and one of the other girls were discussing this novella." John raised an eyebrow. French maids and French novellas. Oh Anna. "Emily didn't understand it, and Annette had to explain a few passages which described what sounded like a very pleasurable and safe… technique." Her hands were playing at his waist. Reaching just under the top of his trousers. "It sounded very…rewarding…and I've been thinking we should try it."

John was relieved. And intrigued. "I must confess, my thoughts were in much the same direction." Again her nimble fingers worked his trousers open. "The technique to which I believe you allude…a sort of intimate variation on the kiss…has much to offer." Anna grinned. She looked more fey than ever. Had it been a year and a day since that other long night, in the other temple, last August? "Was this your original intention for the evening?" Her grin broadened. "Because as fascinated as I am by the idea of you with nothing under that black dress, if that's how you always go about at work I'm done for." John slowly unbuttoned her camisole, watching as her head titled back and her eyes turned to slits as he gently stroked her breast. His trousers were gone; fair was fair, he unhooked the waist of her petticoat. Anna stood to get it out of the way. John sat up to help her remove it and the camisole. She paused before him. The rain had stopped. She seemed to glow in the wet moonlight.

A shadow passed. Anna might not know. She might think it was just like a kiss. She might not know about the end, about his and the mess, about hers and how difficult it might be to achieve, and not through lack of trying. She stepped closer. She was so beautiful and so small. He was woefully out of practice. He hoped Anna wouldn't be disappointed. Some women, or Vera rather, found it demeaning. He didn't want any more unexpected surprises. "Anna…you know…some women find this very enjoyable….but others find it…quite distasteful."

She pushed her hair over her shoulder, and smiled, biting her lip to repress a giggle. She pressed on his chest so he was again lying flat. "I thought you were trying not to think so much?" She was kissing him. She was looming over him. "It is one of your worst qualities." Her hands ran down the length of his body. "How could anything we will both enjoy possibly be distasteful?" She was doing that thing with her tongue and his fingers. She was kissing the line down his torso. Her pert breasts just grazed his skin. Her hands. John didn't know what to do with hands. "Just relax and trust me."

He did. She clasped his hand as she began to tease him with her mouth. In a moment of clarity John knew he'd be in no shape when she was finished with him to reciprocate, and he very much needed to reciprocate. Anna needed him to reciprocate. He motioned to her to turn over. She stopped to kiss him as she rotated her body, allowing John the opportunity to demonstrate his own application of this technique. The sound she made gave John a shiver. It was like his dream. It was better than his dream.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

It was an unlikely gathering at the servants' hall table: John, Anna, Miss O'Brien, and Mr. Branson. All were waiting to be summoned; John, Anna, and Miss O'Brien were sewing. Mr. Branson was looking at the latest set of guides for household servants that had arrived earlier in the week.

John had looked through them that afternoon. Mr. Carson had commended them to everyone's reading, even those not under his immediate supervision, as key guides to professionalism, decorum, and advancing in their chosen profession. John was curious. When he was younger and considering his employment options, he had never seriously considered a life in service. When he father was still living, it was assumed he would help in and eventually take over the shop. John wasn't old enough to run a business when his father died, and they needed the money, so the shop was sold and a few years later he joined the army. He took to soldiering, in part, and the men who were selected as batmen were trained. His application to Lord Grantham had been one of the most self-serving and calculating things he had ever done. Soon after his release from prison, living with his mother, no word of Vera, he knew he had to get out of London and move on with his life. When he wrote in response to Lord Grantham's advertisement, he knew, even with his injury, he would not be turned down. John didn't like it, but he knew it was his only real chance. He had saved Lord Grantham's life; Lord Grantham saved his.

Having had the military's version of valet training, John had missed out on these instructional guides. He agreed with Mr. Carson, to an extent: in order to advance in the profession, discretion was key, as was a certain extra sense that allowed one to anticipate a need not yet stated. He agreed that one's private affairs must never interfere with one's work, but he did not agree that in order to be a good servant one needed to become a machine, devoid of feelings or hopes or dreams. The humanity needed to be preserved, and sometimes, looking around the servants' hall, John wondered how many of his coworkers had subjected their own lives to the point that they no longer existed. John had hoped his life would go that way. He was grateful it hadn't.

Mr. Branson would never be at risk for losing his life in the service of others. He was appalled by the books. Obviously they were written with people like William in mind, but even so. Mr. Branson lowered his voice when he said that. Miss O'Brien chuckled. Anna and John looked at each other over their sewing. Even a boy as young and as simple as William should not be expected to repress his own will and desires just to open doors and fetch cups of tea for useless people.

John kept sewing as he let Mr. Branson's words roll around in his mind. He saw Anna biting her lip to suppress her smile. There was truth in what the young man said, but also hypocrisy. John did not like hypocrisy. He should let it go. He reached for his tea. He couldn't let it go. How could Mr. Branson drive them around, take their money, live under their protection, and call them useless? What gave him the right to judge them? Anna smiled and looked away.

John liked Mr. Branson, but sometimes the things he said were so thoughtless, so wrapped in ideology they couldn't possibly be what he intended to say. John agreed with him, to a point. The aristocracy in and of itself was a useless and unfair system, forcing simple men like Lord Grantham into roles they may never have chosen, but it was the way the world worked. Lord Grantham and family did not deserve respect because of who they were and what they had; they deserved respect because they were alive. John hoped Mr. Branson was mature enough to see this. John noted that, unfair as the system might be, Mr. Branson ultimately benefited from it.

Mr. Branson was sputtering. It wasn't the people themselves, it was the system, and that they expected people to turn into machines. He gestured with the books in his hand. Walk silently. Wear a blank look. Lack emotion. Never betray a need for sleep or food. He leaned on the table and pointed at John. He knew Mr. Bates wouldn't know this, owing to his special relationship with his lordship and never having to deal with any of the family but him, but these people said some of the most offensive things about each other, had some of the most revealing conversations, and it was like he wasn't even there.

John opened his mouth, but felt Anna's hand on his knee. He closed his mouth. Maybe this wasn't a battle to have. Miss O'Brien had been oddly silent. Mr. Branson had backed away, however awkwardly, from the useless people bit. That was a different conversation. John really didn't know much about life as a servant. Maybe he could learn something. He loved watching Anna sew. He stitches were so neat, and her nimble fingers so delicate. She was mending the seam on a blouse for Lady Sybil. She glanced up at him, and back down, smiling, as she caught him starring. She remarked that those books did have some good advice. Miss O'Brien agreed.

John didn't look up from his work. He was certain her perspective on their profession would be illuminating. It was. She found the sections on what not see especially helpful. These fine people did have a tendency to act as if servants weren't in the room. Anna agreed The way they acted sometimes would embarrass her, would've gotten her a slap from her mother, and rightly so. Mr. Branson and Anna laughed. John looked up and smiled. She didn't smile back. That had been hard for her at first. She'd never been one to hold her tongue. John wondered if she'd been drinking. She was almost civil. When she was first in service and they just talked around her like she wasn't even there, she had a mind to answer back, and it had gotten her more than one talking to from the housekeeper. She learned, from older maids and from these guides, what was expected if she was going to advance. And she knew early on she was going to advance. She certainly wasn't going to marry some farm hand.

Miss O'Brien hadn't looked up from the beadwork she was mending. Lord Grantham and the dowager countess were two of the worst for pretending like she wasn't there. John wondered how she had wound up with her place. She obviously hated it, but then, she would find a way to be miserable anywhere. He was glad she and Vera were never likely to meet. With his luck they'd become friendly. Horrifying thought, that. She'd learned how to not be there, how to not react, and how to not see. Surely Anna knew all about that. John didn't like the look Miss O'Brien was giving Anna. Not see what?

Anna glanced at John and rolled her eyes. When she was first in service, she was lighting the fires in the guest rooms one morning, and the couple was awake. Miss O'Brien raised an eyebrow. Anna said she had been told to make up the fire and not disturb them, no matter what, but she felt so awkward. She had slipped in, as she had all the other rooms, and she hadn't heard anything from the room in the hall. But when she got in she realized that they there awake. Their nightclothes were strewn all over the floor, and she heard such groanings and gruntings coming from the bed. She was so embarrassed. She tried not to look. She was sure they didn't know she was there. She worked as quickly as she could. She couldn't actually see them—the blankets were pulled up since it was so cold in the room—but she could see them moving under them. The man did notice her and said something, and the woman had said not to stop, it was only a maid. Anna scurried out as quickly as she could. She'd mentioned it later to one of the older housemaid who had laughed and said it happened to everyone. Maids weren't really there. She'd since learned how to make herself even less noticeable. There were ways to walk, and ways to open doors without calling any attention to oneself at all. She took a sip of tea and looked at Mr. Branson. She'd also had to learn not to care what they said about her. It didn't matter. They didn't know her, and she didn't know them, and neither had the right to judge the other. Neither of them had created the system; they simply lived and worked within it.

Miss O'Brien snorted. Spoken like a true housekeeper to be. Unless of course, she took a sip of tea and looked at John, she received a better offer. John wanted to respond. Tell her to hold her vile tongue and mind her own business. It wasn't her affair. But there was no response he could make. He could admit to being married, and compromise Anna. He could say he was sure she'd receive a better offer, which would make it look like he wasn't likely to be that offer. Miss O'Brien did not need to know about Vera. Anna was intent on her work. Someone needed to respond. Miss O'Brien was smirking. Mr. Branson looked curious. He was asking something. Something that couldn't be answered. Anna needed to say that she didn't expect a better offer, which was true, but made them both look so so bad and let Miss O'Brien think she'd won. Why wasn't Lady Grantham ready to retire?

Mr. Branson crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. At least Anna would be likely to have some choice in the matter. John smiled at Mr. Branson. Anna smiled over her work. Miss O'Brien pursed her lips and sniffed. John poured more tea for everyone.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, broken only by Mr. Branson's whistling and his noisy flipping of the pages. Anna kept glancing at John over their work and smiling softly. He pricked his finger when her bare foot slid into the leg of his trousers. He put his finger to his mouth and Anna called him Mr. Bates and urged him to be careful, as if she had no part in it. He didn't want to get blood on his lordship's shirt. Her eyes were large and teasing and her voice concerned. Miss O'Brien raised an eyebrow. Mr. Branson grinned at them.

Had they heard about Dorothy, over at Nethergate Hall? Miss O'Brien had heard in the village she'd been given her notice. She was in trouble. It always happened sooner or later. Girls got in with some no good man and then the man was gone and there was the baby. Of course the girls were no better than trash themselves, to get into that kind of situation. Always happened. She looked right at them. Nothing better to be expected from some people. Didn't happen as often as it used to now with everyone away but the boys and the useless old men, but it still happened. Was about time for it to happen here.

How dare she. John could feel the blood draining from his face. He couldn't react. He couldn't give her that satisfaction. But the bitch had just essentially called Anna a slut. How dare she. He stole a glance at Anna. She appeared unmoved. Miss O'Brien wasn't worth it. The smug look on her face. Anna was. He opened his mouth and Mr. Branson was shaking his head, laughing, telling her maybe she didn't know all the facts and shouldn't be so quick to judge. Anna's foot was resting on top of John's. He wished he'd taken off his shoes so he could place the other on top of hers and curl his toes around her. Mr. Branson was waving the book again. She was as bad as they were. He knew the grand folk thought the servants had no morals. And why was the woman always to blame? Last he understood the man had a very important role as well. And really, from the things he heard, not just driving but in his old job, where he waited at table, the aristocracy were just as bad, if not worse. And besides, maybe if the rules weren't so strict this wouldn't happen so often. Maybe if maids were allowed to see men, it wouldn't be as exciting. The forbidden always had an allure. He sighed. Anna looked at him, narrowing her eyes a little. John wondered if this was that thing about Lady Sybil again. The whole lot was a bunch of hypocrites, and she should just keep her mouth shut.

Miss O'Brien sniffed again. John smiled at Anna, placed his sewing on the table, and handed Miss O'Brien his handkerchief. He wondered if she was feeling quite well. Mr. Branson had to look away. Miss O'Brien blinked, refused, and kept at her work. Anna's shoulders were shaking. She put her fist to her mouth and looked away. He met Anna's eyes as she turned to him. She nearly started again when he winked at her. He did love her so. After that night in the temple a few weeks ago, the need for intimacy had calmed. It wasn't that their desires had abated, not in the least, but the urgency had diminished, giving them more time to savor and explore each other within the boundaries. He did love her so. A few nights ago, he had found a particularly sensitive area that reduced Anna to shaking, laughing, gasping, near tears in his arms. It was unlike anything John had experienced. Just helping her get there was enough, but not for her. He was amply rewarded in turn. John wished Lady Grantham would hurry up and decide to retire.

Miss O'Brien was saying something about being a good servant. Couldn't she just hold her tongue? Something about a good servant knowing what not to see. A slap from the master to the mistress. John started to rise in his chair. Not Lord and Lady Grantham. Hypothetically. Anna imperceptibly shook her head. Don't react. A kiss to a maid. Mr. Branson raised his eyebrows. A dead body moved in the night. Anna should know all about that.

John saw Anna prick her finger and watched as all the color drained from her face. Mr. Branson looked at John quizzically, then at Miss O'Brien. Was this something about that Turkish gentleman who died here before he came? He'd heard some whispering about that when he was driving the countesses. He didn't hear anything. He smiled at Miss O'Brien. Then he looked at Anna. What could Anna possibly know about the Turkish gentleman? Hadn't he died in his bed? Miss O'Brien gave Mr. Branson what passed as a smile. Had he?

A bell rang. The dowager countess was ready to go home. Mr. Branson put on his jacket and bid them a goodnight, looking thoughtful.

They sat in silence. John looked at Miss O'Brien, wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to make her this way. Some people were just nasty, but no one was born this bitter. He knew almost nothing about her. He suspected her home had not been happy, that she had left young and was sent into service without much choice, and that she never gave much thought to it. But then, the same was true of Anna, and two people couldn't be less alike. He wondered if she had ever had a chance of marriage, if she could love. John had been prepared for hostility from the other servants when he arrived. He couldn't do certain tasks and it was natural they might resent that, but he was unprepared for the level of animosity from her and from Thomas. It just didn't make sense, and if anything, the valet and the ladys maid should be allies. John didn't need the bickering, the picking, the plotting. He had had enough of that with Vera. He tried to be as professional, as correct with Miss O'Brien as he could manage. It did, however, try his patience.

She was smirking at Anna. John had had enough. He might regret it later. What did she possibly hope to gain by repeating unfounded gossip about the family? Was this something the good servant did? He wouldn't regret it. Someone had to say it. Miss O'Brien blinked. It wasn't unfounded, it was true. Everyone knew it. Or hadn't little Anna told him about helping to carry poor Mr. Pamuk back to his bed? Well, maybe she hadn't seen anything.

John threw down the shirt and pushed himself to his feet. How dare she? Anna was saying it wasn't worth it. Lady Grantham's bell rang. It was worth it. Miss O'Brien raised an eyebrow and left.

John left the shirt on the floor. Anna looked up from her work. "Alone at last." Her eyes twinkled when she said it. John smiled and chuckled.

"I thought Lady Grantham would never ring." Anna looked pensive. John wondered if maybe there was some truth to the story. He couldn't ask her. She wouldn't lie to him, and she wouldn't betray Lady Mary. John couldn't put her in that position. He looked at her again. It was true. She was uncomfortable. She wasn't looking at him. She would have helped Lady Mary. John would have helped Lady Mary. The poor girl always seemed a little lost, and John would have helped her and would have kept it from her father. It would destroy her father. He needed to let her know her knew without saying he knew. He brushed her knee with his.

"I'm not sure where that story started, but every time I hear it I deny it. As a representative of her father's house I have no choice but to also uphold Lady Mary's honor and I always will. But that's a cruel piece of gossip."

Anna looked relieved. "Yes. It is cruel." She smiled. "You're doing much better about not letting her get you."

John laughed. "I suppose I am." She was looking at him, trying not to smile. "Must be your positive influence. But it was rough tonight."

Anna shook her head. "She isn't worth it. You'd just be giving her what she wants and then she could tell Lady Grantham you have a violent temper and then we'd have another mess on our hands."

"I know she isn't worth it, but what does she hope to gain?" He stroked her leg with the toe of his shoe. "And you're worth it. She as good as called you a whore."

Anna blinked and shook her head. Her mending was nearly finished. "It doesn't matter. I don't care what she says anymore. She's always been spiteful." She grinned at him. "Maybe she's jealous."

"Anna, you have a real nasty streak!" He inched his chair closer and leaned over her, speaking near her ear. "Maybe she's jealous of me."

Anna gasped and slapped his arm. "Now that is cruel Mr. Bates!" 

Lady Mary's bell twinkled. Then Lord Grantham's. They stood together.

"See you later?" Her hand was in his. He rubbed her fingers.

She smiled. "Maybe." Probably.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

At first John had been nervous about walking with Anna on his arm, but with practice, it grew easier. He found he rather liked it. She wasn't so much on his arm tonight as clamped around it with both of hers. He didn't mind in the least, though it did slow their pace across the grounds. Anna was quiet. John was distracted. William had changed out of his livery and left the house as soon as it was possible.

The nights were growing longer and cooler. John liked winter, but he hoped this one would be mild. Bad weather, cold weather, would prevent evenings in the temple. The moon was full and bright.

"You're quiet tonight John." Anna smiled up at him.

"I was going to say the same of you." He smiled back into her eyes. He sighed as they continued on. "I'm a little worried about William. He hasn't been himself this week, and…well, I'm concerned.

"Daisy's been walking out with the new stable boy."

"She's a silly girl." Poor William. Not that he was likely to do much better.

Anna smiled. "She's very young. She might improve."

John smiled down at her. "Spoken like a fine old lady, Miss Smith." He wanted to kiss her.

Anna giggled. She looked like she wanted him to kiss her. Her eyes sparkled before turning serious. "William went to the pub." John knew. His heart sank. He stopped and looked at the sky. Dark but bright.

"I think between not being allowed to enlist and Daisy, he's been drinking more."

John knew. He had heard William stumbling to bed a few nights that week, after he and Anna had retired, which was late indeed. He didn't want William to go that way, but he didn't know what he could possibly say. "I didn't know he ever had more than his allotted glass of wine at Christmas."

Anna looked towards the path that led into the orchard. "He doesn't. I think he thinks drinking will somehow make people think he's a man."

John sighed. "I can't possibly talk to him about it." It would be condescending. Former drunkard, offering guidance, to a young man. Too paternal. William wouldn't listen.

Anna rubbed her hands along the muscles at the top of his arm. "Maybe if you approached it not as advice, but…talking about things."

John laughed. Men didn't do that. They hit things and drank and chased women.

"What? Too simple?" She grinned.

"A little." He slid his hand to cover hers. "And I'm not sure what I could say that wouldn't sound patronizing. I used to drink a lot? That drowning his heart in liquor isn't the way?"

"He might need to hear it." Anna rested her head on John's shoulder. "But it is tempting. The idea that something can take away cares and worries." She seemed suddenly pensive.

John looked at her. He was about to ask what she meant or maybe say something about temptation and resisting and sucombing when he heard singing. Loud, drunken singing. An old Irish song he knew. Stumbling footsteps. William reeled into view, waving his hat in his hand. Singing. Oh it happened one evening at the playing of the ball1.

Anna and John looked at each other, and sighed. William saw them and waved. Called to them as he caught his foot on a root and fell, flat on his face. He was still singing. Lovely Willie said she. They hurried to him. William had rolled over and was clutching his leg. Handsome fair and tall. Anna reached him first. He wasn't badly hurt, but they should see him back to the house. Between them, they heaved William to his feet and draped his arms over their shoulders. John took as much of the weight as he could and still manage his cane. William wasn't helping at all. Just singing. It's then I'll go with you you're the boy I love best. John detected a tear. House in my father's garden. Hiccup. Then I'll go with you. Hiccup. A rapier he drew. This song was really more in Mr. Branson's line. Lovely Willie he slew. William's voice cracked into sobs just as they reached the kitchen door.

John steered them to a crate. They deposited William as well they could. John bent to relieve his back. Anna stretched her arms over her head. John heard something in her body crack. The way her back moved with such fluidity, the way her breasts lifted, was enchanting. He looked away. William really was heavy and tall. He had stopped singing and was trying to catch his breath. Anna stepped back as William heaved himself to his feet, turned, and was sick behind a barrel. John chuckled. Anna looked revolted. William groaned as he sat back down, his head in his hands. John had a feeling William's drinking would slow down after this night. William swayed.

Anna crossed her arms over her chest and looked at John.

"There's nothing we can do for him right now." He put his arm around her, drawing her against him. "He'll be fine." With luck, he would have learned something.

Anna looked over her shoulder as they headed towards the gardens. "Trust me, there's nothing to be done." He smiled at her. "I have years of experience as a drunk. He just needs to be sick, maybe pass out, and sober up." Anna smiled at him, concern lingering in her eyes. "With luck, this won't be a problem for much longer." He felt Anna shiver. "With luck, William will feel so horrible tomorrow he'll never want to look at alcohol again."

They walked in silence, close but no longer touching. It was easier, especially with the hazards of the dark. John saw a bat cross the moon.

"John…I was wondering…why did you stop drinking?"

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at the sky as they wandered into the orchard. "Well, I realized one day, as my life had totally fallen to pieces, that I needed to stop." Sometimes John was afraid to think what his life would have become if he hadn't stopped drinking. "I knew it would be hard, possibly the hardest thing I ever did, so I tried to make it easy."

Anna blinked and smiled at him. "How did you do that?" What was it that sometimes made Anna, usually so bold, hesitant? "Was…was that why you went to prison?"

John stopped walking. "Yes." He gestured to a bench. It was time to sit. "I knew if I stayed with Vera, I would never stop drinking. Vera…well….Vera is much easier to take drunk." Him drunk, her drunk, it didn't especially matter, so long as alcohol was involved. Vera sober was positively horrifying. "Vera gave me the perfect opportunity to get away, to start over. Our marriage had been over; it had been over for years. I knew she'd let me take the blame, and that she'd leave me while I was in prison." Vera was sometimes so predictable. "I also knew prison would force me to quit drinking. Alcohol simply wasn't available for two years. I had to do without it, and I did."

"But it wasn't easy, was it?" She was leaning slightly against him.

"No." The screaming, the smell, the sickness, the visions. "No, it was…well, rather frightening. But I knew it was the only way to change my life." A lone rabbit hopped up to them, and sniffed at the hem of Anna's dress. "I wasn't living a life I was proud of. After the war, I didn't want to feel, and alcohol can help with that. I drank constantly. I was drunk at work. There are days, weeks, I don't clearly remember." He didn't want to remember. "No one ever said anything. I'm not sure anyone even knew, but my mother and Vera." Vera, he didn't care. His mother though, the look in her eyes. He was an embarrassment to his mother. "I wasn't living a life I could be proud of. I provided for my wife, I looked after my mother, I did my job, but…but it wasn't…I felt half alive." Half dead. "And sometimes, you need to be numb. But not all the time. I spent years numb and in a fog."

Anna titled her head to look at the branches over their heads. "What was it like when you came out?"

John exhaled. "It was different. When the alcohol was finally out of my system, and it took a while, even in prison, life was brighter, louder. I found I could engage with people, have conversations, I didn't smell." He knew she was smiling. "There were so many times that I was lying in my bunk, fighting the alcohol, that I wondered if it would all be worth it, and it was."

He put his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled close. "Did you always drink a lot?"

Another rabbit ran by. "I did, but I didn't always drink to get drunk." That was the difference. "There was always whiskey at home, especially when we were in Ireland. My cousins had a band, and would play at the pub, and my uncle…it was a problem for my uncle. One sip and he'd be dead drunk, falling over, laughing." It was embarrassing. "His drunkenness was just part of the village." Here came the fox. "I was never properly drunk before the war. It never affected me like it did my uncle, or William. It took a lot before I felt anything." He hoped the rabbits were safe. "When I joined the army, we'd go out to the pub, and all the others would be so drunk they could barely walk home." Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they got in fights, passed out on the tables, or left with whores. John never did. "I just…didn't. I would drink more than they did sometimes, and it had an affect on me, but not like that. And then I met Vera."

"From what you've said, Vera would make any man drink."

John laughed. "Well, she enjoyed a drink herself, and together we both drank more." It was the only way to deal with her. She was so exciting drunk. Being drunk made her seem exciting. She was a drunk. They would drink all day. Before the war, it was exciting; after, it was awful. Vera would pick fights; John grew bitter and nasty. "I think drinking became a necessity in Africa. War is awful. I want a drink just thinking about the things I saw and did and saw done."

"Did drinking help?" Her voice was quiet.

"Depends on what you mean by help. Drinking didn't so much make me forget or not care, it just deadened the sensation." Deadened the sensation of causing death. "And then, when I was shot, it was the only way to lessen the pain." All the types of pain. "I've never slept easily. When I was young, I'd stay up reading or thinking, and I still do, but drinking gave me a way to sleep. It wasn't restful sleep, but it was sleep." It was darkness, with the promise of oblivion, and that was enough. "So, once I was home, it became a pattern. I would drink, all day, until the point that I could if not sleep, black out." He would drink at home, fight with Vera, leave for the pub, and sit at the bar and consume a bottle of whisky, dram by dram.

Anna stirred as if she were uncomfortable. John hated telling her, if it hurt her to know, but part of him thought she needed to know. "What were you like? Were you like William?"

John smiled and tightened his grip around her shoulders. "No, I was never so young or so light- hearted as William." For all his concerns, William was a simple boy. "Drinking rarely enhances the good side of a person. It has a way of bringing forth the bitterness. I didn't sing, or fall over, or start fights. I just drank and spoke my mind, but my mind was clouded."

"My brother gets violent. He's been banned from the Black Bull in Haworth, and he beats Molly. She drinks too, and always says it isn't his fault." She was looking away.

"It is his fault." John knew too many soldiers who beat their wives after a night of drinking. "A man's most basic characteristics come out when he's drunk. William is insecure, but basically happy. I tend to be inclined to ponderous thought, and I have a short temper, which leads to me being maudlin and bitter, hot- headed. Your brother is a violent degenerate." Most of them got away with it. If they were drunk they weren't culpable. The lack of responsibility was disgusting. "But that's no excuse for what a man does when he's drunk." A breeze rustled through the branches of the apple trees. They would be ready soon.

"Edward says it isn't his fault if he's drunk." An apple fell. "But he's always drunk."

John rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. He was always drunk. He kicked a fallen apple. "Some people lose control when they're drunk. I've never thought it was an excuse, but I have no right to judge him. I was able to stop, but it was horrible. Some people can't stop, and…"

"But some people never try."

John sighed. He might not have tried. "No, but it isn't as simple as that. If I hadn't chosen to remove myself from the situation entirely, I couldn't have done it." He kicked at the apple again. "I went to prison so I could stop drinking. I voluntarily surrendered my rights and my good name. I was useless, and worthless, and turned myself around. It can be done, but no everyone can do it. It doesn't make them weak, or bad, no more so than anyone else." Somewhere some of the apples had begun to rot. "I don't know if I'm explaining it well. Drinking became a need. I couldn't function without it, and I'm not sure I can explain how…I knew I needed to stop or I would die or worse, but I didn't want to stop, I was afraid to stop." He ran a hand through his hair. "I had this moment of clarity and knew I had to try."

Anna reached towards one of the low hanging apples. She couldn't quite get it. "That's one of the reasons I love you. You knew you had to try." John pulled it down and handed it to her with a smile. "Your control and your self-discipline are so admirable, and I…." She blinked and looked away. She turned back and smiled at John, taking a bite of her apple. "That's why I trust you so." She handed the apple to John, with a raised eyebrow. He took a bite, his teeth breaking the firm flesh just where hers had been. It was crisp and tart and sweet. John didn't know what to say.

The wind was growing cold. Anna nestled into his side as they passed the apple between them. "How hard was it when you were out? Were you tempted?"

Constantly. "I wasn't sure what would happen. I knew I had to avoid my old life, but I wasn't sure to what extent I needed to avoid alcohol. Mother gave me a glass of whiskey out of habit, and it made me sick. That was the last taste." John felt his leg stiffening. "Mother believed my drinking was a weakness, and maybe it was, I'm not sure. She didn't seem to understand that it wasn't as simple as just stopping or slowing down. If I had one drink, I had to have another and another until I was drunk, and that took more and more."

Anna shivered. It was nearly time to head back to the house. "What about your leg?"

"Prison destroyed my leg. I didn't need a cane before. Alcohol numbed the pain, and without it, and with the damp in prison, I felt it like I hadn't since I was first injured. And there are days, especially in the damp of winter, climbing the endless stairs in this house, that yes, a drink would be most welcome. Warming, soothing, relaxing, yes." Anna stirred against him. He put his face to her head. Her hair was silky. She smelled of apple and breeze and soap and lavender. "And there are days when nothing seems to go right, or I have to deal with something from Vera or think about the war. A drink would help." But it wouldn't help, not really. "And I'm tempted. But I have so much to lose."

Anna looked him, her eyes large. "No, John, I'd still love you."

He smiled. "I know." He'd rather not test it. "And that isn't what I meant."

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew." They looked at each other and smiled, laughing. Anna threw the apple core behind them.

"We should get back, check on William." He kissed her, gently. She tasted like apple. John stood first, and reached for Anna's hand.

"William's such a sweet kid. I wish he'd get over Daisy." Anna sighed.

"I wish Daisy realized what she could have with him."

"Maybe she will."

They reached the courtyard. William was still there, but he had moved from where they'd left him. He was sprawled on the ground near the door, asleep. He'd been sick again, and had managed to loosen his tie. John and Anna looked at each other. She giggled.

"We could leave him for Mr. Carson to find."

"That would certainly ensure that this never happens again." John laughed. "Can you help me get him up? I think he's learned his lesson." They bent together and heaved William to his feet. He blinked but didn't seem to see them. "He's in for a rough day tomorrow." Together they moved to the house. "At least I won't need to talk to him about this now." John bent to kiss Anna over William's bent head, as he might if William were their child. "Goodnight, Anna." It was surprisingly easy. Though the love and trust in her eyes no longer surprised him, it still made him feel a little dizzy.

"Goodnight, Mr. Bates."

1 Song, "Lovely Willie," Irish traditional. The recording by Custer La Rue and Chris Norman, album, Lullaby Journey on the Dorian label is my personal favorite version. What it lacks in musicological authenticity it makes up for in musicianship and spirit.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

John was nearly late for tea. He had been in the attic, putting away Lord Grantham's summer suits, and wanted to finish. He hated to leave a job partially complete. John entered the servant's hall after everyone else was seated. Everyone else was a rather small group these days, many of the maids having left for factory jobs, and the men for the army. Mr. Carson was reading the morning's newspaper. Sometimes he read out interesting headlines, and then left the paper for the others when he had finished. John usually read it earlier in the day, after Lord Grantham had finished it, but today he hadn't had the chance.

Anna smiled at him as he took his seat and handed him a cup. He hadn't seen much of her today. John tried not to listen as Mr. Carson read the latest body count. Mrs. Patmore had made baked apples. John loved baked apples. Warm with a hint of cinnamon, with thick fresh cream. He hoped she made extra. A little over a year into the war and they were desensitized to the body count. John remembered why he hated war.

Mr. Carson turned a page. A book was going to be prosecuted for obscenity. That was unusual enough to get everyone's attention. William asked what book and why. Mr. Branson said that was a stupid thing to do, without asking for details. Mrs. Hughes simply raised her eyebrows, preparing to look shocked. Anna didn't noticeably respond. Miss O'Brien sipped her tea.

The book was _The Rainbow_ by D. H. Lawrence. John had a spoonful of apple and asked what the reason was. He had seen the notice of publication earlier and had written his favorite book dealer in London. Now he supposed he would never read it. The apple was warm and moist and seemed to expand on his tongue before sliding down his throat.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat, his apple untasted. The book was a waste of Mr. Lawrence's considerable talents, not properly mindful at this time of war, impious, dealt with the matings of Polish aristocrats and yeoman farmers, and suffered from a freedom in its treatment of sexual matters. That certainly got murmurs. Mr. Branson was offended by the article and slammed his spoon to the table. Mr. Carson wasn't sure he should continue in mixed company. Mrs. Hughes commented that while it might unsavory, they were all adults. He continued.

The book was said to have profound beauty and to be deeply passionate. Lawrence seemed to indicate the world was sick because it did not know how to love. Those were said to be the favorable comments. Almost paganistic approach to religion and relation to the earth. The sexual subjects were treated realistically but in an undeniably unhealthy manner. Subject matter in the book was coarse, perverse, not only did it have an out of wedlock pregnancy; it portrayed a sexual relationship between women. Miss O'Brien observed over her teacup that that certainly wouldn't result in a baby. William looked very confused. Mr. Branson looked intrigued. Anna was pale. The subject matter was not justified, nor was it suitable at all in this time of conflict and crisis.

John had nearly finished his apple. He had made it last as long as he could. William's was long gone, Mr. Branson's as well. O'Brien's was untouched. Mrs. Hughes was taking her time, chewing diligently as she did all things. Anna was nearly finished. She had a bit of cream on the corner of her mouth. Mrs. Hughes thought they had heard quite enough about that sordid book. Mr. Carson agreed. William asked what two ladies would want with a love scene. Miss O'Brien had a coughing fit. He looked so confused. Mr. Branson said he'd explain it to him later. The doorbell rang and William was on his feet.

Mr. Carson put down the paper and looked as if he had just noticed his apple. He thought it a good thing that books like that be suppressed. Filth like that shouldn't be written, let alone printed. John opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He had some more tea. Anna had noticed the cream on her mouth and wiped it away with her finger, which she then licked, like a cat, paying no attention to the activity at all. John forgot what they were discussing. He thought of her soft, nimble tongue caressing the length of her finger. She was oblivious. Her warm, soft, sweet tasting tongue. He shouldn't stare. He was so glad he sat next to her rather than across. He needed more tea. Mr. Carson was still talking. Books like this had no place in a world where susceptible people might be able to read them.

John supposed by that Mr. Carson meant women. Did he really mean that women were somehow in need of protection from ideas? Mr. Carson blinked rapidly. He seemed surprised to have been challenged. He meant that some ideas, some material, just weren't appropriate for some people to read. John was losing his patience. Based on what Mr. Carson had read to them, the objectionable material was largely based on sexual relationships without benefit of marriage. Obviously this had an implication for society, but it was only a book. Mr. Carson sputtered. He looked to Mrs. Hughes for support but she looked away, flushed. Surely Mr. Carson didn't mean to say that women were so susceptible books needed to be banned to protect them? Books offered ideas; nothing more. Actions were a result of character.

John remarked that the reviews which labeled this book as filth were missing the point. He had read Lawrence, and couldn't imagine he would introduce anything into his writing that didn't advance the plot. He wasn't that kind of writer, but if someone was determined to see filth, perhaps because they were challenged, so be it. Mr. Carson turned red then white. John meant nothing personal; neither of them had read the book and likely never would, thanks to others making that decision for him. Mr. Branson grinned. Lawrence was writing about ideas that were part of the human experience. How could anyone hope to be protected from that? No answer. Why should they be? No answer. Responsibility for one's actions had to come into play at some point. If the men behind this legal action would stop to think, they would see that only harm would come from a ban. Mr. Carson seemed to think that sex equaled filth and reading about it would lead immediately to a downfall of society. John hoped that wasn't true. Mr. Carson needed to give people more credit. John hoped he wasn't embarrassing Anna, but he'd gone too far to stop now. Keeping women ignorant of sexual matters until they married was ultimately far more harmful to society. Anna was suddenly focused on her lap.

Miss O'Brien said something under her breath about him liking dirty books. She wasn't surprised. John patiently explained it wasn't the story, it was the writing. If it were up to him, he would read every word Lawrence wrote, but apparently it wasn't up to him anymore. It was the language, the sense of life he conveyed. The story was secondary. What he'd read of Lawrence's writing didn't really have a story anyway, just a focus on human relationships. Miss O'Brien rolled her eyes. She had a button to sew before her majesty was ready to dress for dinner. She left. John wasn't sure anyone but Anna understood. Mr. Branson might. John had more tea. He wished he had savored his apple.

Mr. Branson wondered if these people had ever thought that by making something forbidden it was more interesting. Basic human nature. Censorship was nonsense. Now everyone would try to read this before it was burnt, and destruction of the physical manifestation wouldn't destroy the ideas. Censorship was just another way for the government to control the people. He looked angry. If the courts want to make a real point about obscenity and social corruption, they should look to the powerful, who would use their position and hide behind their status, while abusing those weaker than themselves for their own gratification. Like this stupid war. Like what they were doing in Ireland. He shook his head and threw down his napkin. He needed to work on the automobile before picking up the dowager countess.

Mr. Carson looked as if his eyes might fall out. He wasn't accustomed to disagreement. There were people, young people who lacked proper guidance, for whom reading led to doing. These people needed protection. From dangerous ideas. He sputtered. From themselves. Mr. Branson chuckled as he left.

John wondered, not for the first time, if Mr. Carson had ever been in love. He wondered, more than that, if he had ever been with a woman. There were times he thought surely, in his past as a performer, there had to have been someone. Then there were other times, like this afternoon, that John thought certainly not. John said it was his understanding that the ideas in the book were about human relationships and love. People required protection from this? Was his opinion of women and young people so low that he believed they couldn't make responsible choices for themselves? Actions had consequences, yes, but there was nothing inherently wrong with acting out of love or desire, no matter what form it took. Mr. Carson had turned color. John was deeply afraid he had embarrassed Anna. She seemed to be willing a bell to ring.

Mr. Carson was not going to yield. It was un-English, it was unchristian, and in these times of war, it was important to keep to basic morals. Women as lovers. What kind of perverse mind would even introduce the idea into a story? It was shameful. Men went to prison for that, and rightly so. John was glad, not for the first time, Thomas had left the house.

Mrs. Hughes seemed to be considering an idea. She finally spoke, and said she learned early that a life in service was a life of sacrifice. Love was usually one of the sacrifices, and sometimes it came along in unexpected forms. Really, who was to say it should be denied? She remembered a house where the cook and the housekeeper seemed like old sisters. They even shared a bedroom, even though they didn't need to. Nothing was ever seen or said, but to those who watched, it was obvious that there was more to the relationship. They were happy, and they were good, kind women, and it didn't hurt anyone. Who was she to say it was wrong?

John noticed a vein on Mr. Carson's neck that was twitching. His eyebrows couldn't possibly go any higher. It was unnatural. It was perverse. It was against all natural laws. These women obviously had something deeply wrong with them. And if society condoned it, what was next? Recognizing fallen women? Those women should be left alone with their shame, not acknowledged in any way. The proper, natural social order destroyed. Children needed a family. Children shouldn't have to suffer because their mothers lacked morals, but they would. Women shouldn't allow themselves to get in situations like that. They should have some decency, some control. Not let men persuade them. Not encourage them. It took very little. Women were the gentle ones, the moral ones, the controlled ones. Anna's jaw quivered.

John paused for a moment, and wondered, why the responsibility of control rested with the women? And what did war have to do with it? Did he mean to suggest that women felt less than men? John thought of how the burden of control rested solely with him when he was with Anna, and how difficult it was, but how he loved her too much to lose control. What did it say about the social order, the morals of their society, that men were expected to be sexually knowledgeable and women weren't, that men were seen as unable to control themselves and women were paragons of virtue? What about the scores of aristocratic men, no doubt many previous Earls of Grantham, who had fathered children outside their marriage? Why did they get a pass? How many times had Mrs. Hughes made the guest room arrangments based on whose mistress was staying in which room? Mrs. Hughes looked away as Mr. Carson glared at her. Why was this hyprocisy accepted? John wanted to make it clear that he saw a need to maintain the social order, but Mr. Carson was arguing a position that was untenable. Ultimately it would result in more pregnancies outside of marriage. The idea of forcing women to feel shamed was appalling. What was next? Stoning them at the market cross? Both parties were to blame, and sometimes it was almost impossible to fight nature. Did he speak from experience? Mr. Carson tried to get support from Mrs. Hughes. Unsuccessfully. Mr. Carson stood. It was time to ring the dressing gong. He hoped there would be no more on this topic. It was harmful, and disgusting, especially in mixed company. He left, rigid as ever. Perhaps he thought Anna might get ideas.

John sighed. He knew he and Mr. Carson had radically different worldviews, but he had always respected him. Anna was twisting her apron. She seemed to be clenching her teeth. She hadn't spoken at all. Mrs. Hughes was eyeing her carefully. Mrs. Hughes smiled and shook her head at John. All this fuss over a book. Of course it wasn't over a book, but still. She thought maybe Mr. Carson was working too hard. She had known girls in service who had gotten in trouble, and the situations were always different. It was easy to spread shame when you didn't know any better. Of course she had to dismiss girls under her authority, that was just how it was, but their stories were always different. Maybe he was just getting old. She shook her head, and left the table.

Anna almost looked sick. She finally looked at him. "Anna, I hope I didn't embarrass you."

Her smile was feeble. "No. No, you didn't." Daisy dropped a dish. Anna's head snapped to the kitchen as Mrs. Patmore's shouts erupted.

She turned to back to John slowly. She was wrinkling her apron horribly. "I don't think I'm speaking out of turn to say you seem upset, and I don't think it has anything to do with censorship." John took her hand. It was damp.

Her smile solidified. She laughed softly. Ruefully? "No, though I was looking forward to reading it." He turned her hand over in his, and caressed the palm.

John felt his lips twitch. "You mean if I thought it was suitable for your delicate virgin sensibilities?"

Her smiled faltered. Lady Mary rang. Anna started to rise. "John…there's….there's something I'd like to tell you." Her voice was shaking. John was worried. "But not now. Not here."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

John's mind was reeling. In the time between tea and dinner, he pondered every possible cause for Anna's discomfort. Pondered was not the right word. To ponder implied to think, carefully and profoundly. There was none of that happening in his head. Ideas, visions, stories, possible conversations and outcomes hopped through his mind in rapid succession. When he still drank, he could turn off the endless parade of sounds and visions and possibilities. He knew he didn't want a drink, and wasn't going to drink, but it occurred to him, as he laid out Lord Grantham's fresh pajamas and slippers, that obsessing was an annoying side effect of sobriety.

Lord Grantham had given John a few strange looks while he was helping him dress for dinner. Lord Grantham had received a letter from Matthew Crawley. There were things in it he didn't want to share with the ladies. John tried to listen, but all he could think about was Anna and what it might be. Why had a conversation about censorship affected her so? John was pleased she agreed that the book shouldn't be banned; Anna was certainly a woman who knew her own mind and her own body and didn't require protection from ideas. As he tried to listen to Lord Grantham talk about what went wrong with Matthew and Mary, John realized he couldn't think of any woman, aside from Daisy who was really still just a girl, who required protection from shocking ideas. Anna certainly didn't. Lord Grantham's daughters didn't.

John wished he had paid more attention to Anna to see what it was that had affected her. Female lovers. Lord Grantham was looking at the letter again. Might Anna have had a female lover? Could she be interested in having one? John dropped a brush. Lord Grantham looked at him. John bent to pick it up as quickly as he could. Lord Grantham was saying something about Mary, how tiresome the whole business was. Usually John was more sympathetic to Lady Mary's plight, but the vision of Anna with another woman, Lady Mary perhaps, was burning into his mind. He swallowed hard. Pale bare breast against pale bare breast. He shook his head. The possibility was distracting. Apparently Lord Grantham had asked him a question. John had no idea what the answer should be.

Maybe Anna had a copy of the book hidden in her room and she was afraid the authorities would come and search the house and burn it in the courtyard and she'd be known as the one who read dirty books. She knew he had an interest in it. His birthday was coming up; perhaps she had been planning a surprise. Lord Grantham was looking at him. It was time for cufflinks. John apologized. He had something on his mind and he was sorry it was affecting his work. He and Anna could read it together in the temple and see just how scandalous it was. The bookseller probably didn't keep detailed records, and Anna could claim she'd already given it as a gift if inquiries were made. Lawrence had such a knack for turning the mundane into something special, for making the landscape alive. John would love to share that with Anna.

Time for the jacket. Lord Grantham was making some sort of comparison between modern trench warfare and what they had known in Africa. Surprise attacks in all directions. Mud and something called trench foot. John closed his eyes as Lord Grantham slid his arms into the sleeves. Mr. Carson had been fairly vocal in his disapproval of unwed mothers. John knew Mr. Carson had rigidly conservative views, but he had also thought he had compassion. He was a good man, but John wondered if he had let his focus on perfection and image override his basic humanity. Anna's reaction was almost nervous, almost angry. John wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps she had a friend who had been in trouble, as they said. Anna was the most loyal, most sympathetic, least judgmental person in the world. It was part of her beauty. A woman in trouble needed a friend like Anna. Mrs. Hughes was correct; the situations were always different, but blame was heaped upon the woman, the temptress. Perhaps at the house where she worked before coming to Downton Anna had a friend in trouble who encountered attitudes like Mr. Carson's and was sent packing and wound up dead or in the poor house, disowned by her family and friends because no one bothered to ask or care or listen. Perhaps their discussion had brought back the story to Anna, and awakened her natural compassion and goodness in the face of Mr. Carson's callousness.

As Lord Grantham turned to him, fully dressed for dinner, John realized he had been starring at the picture over the dressing table. John excused himself again, glad that he and Lord Grantham had a long enough history together to overlook these occasional off nights. Lord Grantham patted him on the back and suggested he get some rest. John thanked him, and began laying out fresh pajamas. A good valet knew how to anticipate his employer's needs. John knew exactly when fresh pajamas were in order and exactly how soft they should be.

Lord Grantham's favorite pajamas were old striped cotton, washed many times, not quite as old as Lady Sybil, but definitely older than Isis. John knew Lady Grantham loathed them, but Lord Grantham had told him many times how much he loved them. He had newer sets, silky sets, flannel sets, but tonight John thought Lord Grantham needed the old soft and familiar comfort. Anna's nightgown had a similar feel to it. Old cotton, washed hundreds of times, and softer than silk. John wondered if she had just the one. Her underthings were quite simple too, pure white, cotton so soft it was softer than her skin. Left to his own devices, John would buy her silk things, but he realized how unsuitable they would be. Silk was always a bit cold, though it had delightful ways of clinging to the body. Cotton was cool and warm, and never called attention to itself like silk. It enhanced unobtrusively. John sighed. He did so enjoy their new intimacy. He was sure Anna did too.

Perhaps Anna wasn't happy with their new intimacy. Perhaps she was worried he wouldn't stop before it got dangerous. It was a curious issue, that the sole responsibility rested with him. John had wondered, when the subject first arose, what had happened to make Anna lose faith in herself. Surely something had happened, unless she was so unaccustomed to her responses that she was frightened. John didn't think that was the case. He hadn't thought much about whether or not Anna was inexperienced, but he was inclined to think she was. Then again, she was so keen for certain activities, and so gifted, and so very, very responsive. John had wondered idly if she might have had some practice, but it didn't matter to him. He placed the dressing gown across the bed. For some men, it was important that women be totally inexperienced. John had never understood that perspective. It seemed hypocritical, disrespectful, cowardly. He would never ask Anna if there had been anyone before him. He smoothed the sleeves of the gown and stood up. The sunset was orange and purple.

John felt something tighten around his heart. Could Anna be afraid because she had once had a lover and he had gone too far? John let his cane fall to the floor. That smelly farmhand had forced her! Anna hadn't wanted to tell him earlier, but now she did. John would find him, and hurt him. How dare that boy violate Anna? John clenched his fist. And now Anna didn't fully trust him to contain things, and wanted to end their intimacy. He started to sweat. John wanted to find Mr. Carson and yell that more innocents had been corrupted by people in power than ever would be through literature. Mr. Carson had upset Anna, and that was unforgiveable. John suspected if a young woman working at Downton was molested by a guest, Mr. Carson would blame and dismiss her. The man lacked compassion. Something had happened to Anna, and she had never told anyone, and now she needed to, and Mr. Carson's attitude had distressed her. The man was so obtuse. Apparently he thought seeing Sodom would make one a Sodomite. He should avoid literature. He should probably avoid the newspapers.

Something didn't quite fit. John's sister Nora had had a friend, Bessy. John sat on the edge of the bed that was never slept in. A boy had forced himself upon Bessy, and she had been afraid to tell her mother and so told Mrs. Bates, who had accompanied her home. Bessy had been a nice girl. John was just a boy when all this happened, but he remembered hearing his sisters and his mother talking later. She had changed. Her trusting nature was gone, her sparkle had vanished. Nora had died soon after this, and John hadn't thought about Bessy much since, but he felt her experience was somehow typical of girls who had been violated. If some boy had gone too far with Anna, she wouldn't be so eager or so trusting. Perhaps she didn't trust him. But she so obviously did. He rolled his neck and groaned. It was going to be such a long evening.

John was late to dinner, but not as late as Anna. Conversation was limited. Mr. Carson was still flustered from the talk at tea and was trying to regain his sense of moral authority. John wondered if the discussion had led to impure thoughts and inclinations. How the man had ever survived life on the stage, John would never know. Perhaps he had led a life of carefree debauchery and was making up for it now. William still looked confused; Mr. Branson was going to be in for a long evening as well. Anna was distant. She barely smiled at him. She didn't touch him. Usually at meals she'd let a leg brush his, or her foot stroke his under the table. Sometimes a hand on his knee. Tonight nothing. She was going to break it off. Mr. Carson's commentary had awakened some sense of propriety, that what they were doing was wrong. It wasn't wrong; what was wrong was that it couldn't go any farther. Damn Vera. He needed to write her again. He'd been putting it off, but Anna deserved more. He needed to show her he could make more possible. A little cottage. Nearby perhaps, or possibly Ireland. John stirred his stew. He'd like to see Ireland again. Children were an intriguing possibility. Small blond children with wide smiles. All girls. If Anna agreed. But she wouldn't. She didn't want children, and she was going to end their entanglement. The stew was tasteless. He wondered if Daisy had made it. Anna lightly brushed against him as she pushed back from the table. He glanced up at her. She smiled. It was going to be a long evening.

After work was finished for the evening, John waited for Anna in the hall, with a pot of tea and _The Sorrows of Young Werther_. Rather sentimental, melodramatic stuff, but it suited his mood. He felt a little queasy. He was steeling himself for the worst. John hoped it would happen fast. He didn't want to let her go, but if that's what she wanted he had to let her. He'd have to resign. He hadn't turned a page in five minutes. He closed his eyes. Resign and return to London. Fade from her life as she would never fade from his. He looked up. Anna was in the door. She was leaning with her arms crossed over her shawl. She had released her hair from the bun, but she was still wearing that ugly black dress.

John tried to find something to say other than her name as she crossed the room to her chair. She gave him a small smile as she sat.

"Is this any good?" She took the book from him.

"I'm not sure I've taken much of it in." He was trying to read her face. He saw tiredness, stress, worry. That crease was back between her eyebrows. He wanted to take her in his arms, press her body to his chest, and bury his face in her hair while she nuzzled into his neck. He wouldn't, unless that was what she wanted.

John watched as Anna laid the book on the table. "You're worried."

John looked down. Worried. He looked into her eyes. "I am."

Anna sighed and smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I knew you'd jump to some sort of awful conclusion as soon as I said it, especially since I had to leave right then."

John let out his breath. It came out as shaking laughter. It felt so good. "Am I that transparent?"

Anna smiled and shook her head. "Perhaps." She put her hand on his cheek. "Or perhaps I just know you very well, Mr. Bates." John closed his eyes. It would be alright.

"Would you like some tea?" He had plenty. "Or would you like to go for a walk?" John was still worried, but at least she wasn't going to end things.

Anna stood. "Let's go outside. It's so clear and cool; I'd like to see the moon in the pond."

They paused at the door. "Do I need my coat?"

"Only you can answer that." She smiled. John felt hopeful.

"Do you need my coat?" Her lips twitched. He took it.

The night was beautiful. Clear and crisp, with the clean smell of autumn. They walked slowly, close but not touching, quiet.

"Mr. Carson and I have many differences, but I respect him, and I had thought him a caring man. He surprised me today."

Anna was looking more at the ground that the sky. She smiled distantly, without looking at John. "Oh? He didn't surprise me." She drew her shawl tighter. John would wrap them in his coat when they got to the temple.

"He's an obtuse and insensitive fellow. He deserves to live in the type of world he believes in." Anna just shook her head. "And banning books for the common good? What kind of sense could there ever be in that? There's nothing there but fear and hypocrisy."

"I don't think you're being fair to Mr. Carson. He is a kind man, and a good man. He's just trying to maintain the ideals he was raised to believe in. He loves tradition and order." She stretched her neck to look at the sky. "I think you'll find most people think as he does, at least about what you were discussing this afternoon." She smiled at him. "Which had nothing to do with the literary merits of your Mr. D. H. Lawrence at all."

John kicked at a rock. "The ideals and traditions he was raised to believe in are barbaric, if what he said is indeed what he believes."

Anna was quiet. John wasn't sure she was going to say anything. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she did speak, she was looking in the opposite direction of John, towards the walled garden. "Aren't you the one who says that while society can be a cruel place, we have to live in it, and to do that, we have to accept and lives by its rules?"

"Yes, but we don't have to like them, or support them, or lose our compassion just to maintain a sense of order." It was never simple. John wished Anna would come out with it. He was no longer dreading whatever it was she wanted to say, but she was being cryptic. He wondered if this was what it was like to deal with him.

They reached the temple. Anna was right; the moon was reflected in the pond and it was beautiful. The sky and water were dark, almost black, and the moon a full silver. They sat on the steps, John resting his back on a pillar, Anna resting her back against John, John's coat tucked around them. A pair of swans drifted by. John didn't want to rush her, but he wished she'd tell him whatever it was. He would not ask. He could feel her tension. She had not relaxed against him. John wanted her to come out with it. He ran his hands over the base of her neck, her shoulders. Nothing but knots. He started to work, slowly. She settled a little closer against him. This might help. He just needed to relax her.

"I couldn't help but notice that there was something upsetting you this afternoon." Anna was still distracted. "I still don't think it was the question of censorship." She seemed to be making herself more tense waiting to tell him. He was going to have to take a more direct line. "I think, even though we've established where we stand on Mr. Carson and his attitude, there was something in what he said you may have found especially troubling." It was almost as if she had taken something personally. She remained quiet. John kept smoothing. "I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don't want to." He leaned a little neared to her. "You have said that nothing you could ever learn about me would affect how you felt about me. I hope you know the same is true for me."

"Well…" Anna squirmed. "Could…could you stop?" John stopped. Anna shifted so she was next to him. "You see… I…" She was blinking, looking at the sky and then at the ground. John wanted to take her in his arms again, but he knew he shouldn't. Not yet. Anna's voice had dropped. "Remember when I told you about Andrew? The farm hand?"

John's heart skipped a beat. "Bad skin, bad teeth, smelled, wanted to marry you? Vaguely." Perfectly.

John could see Anna try not to smile. "Well, I... I didn't exactly tell you the truth."

A shadow crossed the moon. "There didn't seem to be much more to tell. You didn't sound all that taken with him."

"Well, I never thought I'd tell anyone the truth. When I told you about him, there…there wasn't any reason to and I… it was easier to tell you the story I told everyone else."

John understood. "I'm hardly in a position to comment on your being less than forthright." Their relationship was new at the time, and if this story was going where John thought it might, Anna would want to make sure of him, his love and trust, before revealing all her secrets.

"Andrew actually wasn't that bad. He did smell, but we all did. And his teeth were crooked and his skin was spotty, but there was just something about him. And he was very nice." A breeze picked up. "He had good prospects, and since it was either be a maid or marry someone, I went walking out with him." She was taking her time. John didn't want her to feel rushed, but there were certain things he needed to know. "We weren't allowed to have young men, of course, but almost all the girls did. I was one of the youngest, and I heard them talking at night about them. They all said the only way to show the man you cared about him was to do whatever he suggested. It was only way to keep him, especially if there was to be a baby… If there was to be a baby he couldn't leave, and you could leave service." John wasn't entirely sure where this was going. Anna was not the type of person who would try to have a baby to secure a future. "But no one ever seemed to wind up pregnant."

"My mother had never said much about all that. Of course I knew where babies came from, and how, but waiting until marriage was never mentioned. I knew that…that really you weren't supposed to, but plenty of people didn't, and were still good people." She was trying to tell him she wasn't a virgin. "I'm not sure my grandparents were actually married. We were all so poor, it didn't matter." John knew there were plenty of communities in which physical consummation of a relationship equaled marriage. "One new curate made much of that, but the vicar had so many other problems, he said that God knew the families, and that was enough for him." Somehow the idea of sexual ignorance and sexual guilt evolved in society while the idea of sexual freedom and sex as a contract remained the law in rural communities. Natural law won. "And for girls like me, it didn't matter. No one expected much of us." It mattered for girls like Lady Mary.

"I really liked Andrew, but I didn't love him. But sometimes when he kissed me, I felt like I was on fire. I just wanted him to keep at it, to never stop. And one day he didn't stop." Anna's voice faded away. She looked down at her hands. One of the swans honked.

John closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to interrupt, but he had to know. "Anna... I need to know… Did you want him to stop?... Do I need to find this Andrew and hurt him? Did he force himself on you?"

"No." One of the swans flapped its wings. "No, he didn't. We hadn't actually walked anywhere; it was storming and we went up to a room over the barn, and we started kissing. It was different than usual, and it felt so good, and it was such a hot day. It felt so good. He'd unbuttoned his shirt and my dress and he just kept touching me and I didn't want him to ever stop. I was touching him too, and he felt so good. I realized that his trousers were open, and that my dress was gone and my drawers, but it felt so good I didn't care. Next thing I knew he was on top of me and I couldn't bear for him to stop then. And then it hurt and it was over. He'd ripped my shift and there was blood and I was dripping."

John leaned his head against the pillar and looked at the sky. Anna had drawn her knees to her chest. Slowly, John took her hand. She curled to his side. John kissed the top of her head. They sat in silence.

"A few days later, it was stormy again, and we went back to the little room. It started the same way, but it was so different. It was so much better." John smiled to himself and wrapped his arm around her. It usually was better the second time. "It was like we'd unleashed something in each other. It felt so good, and it was so hard to stop." Anna shifted. "We really couldn't stop." John pulled the coat up to her chin. "There were so many ways to go about it, and they were all fun." He was momentarily troubled by the image of coarse hands on Anna's soft creamy skin, the eagerness of a young man to seek his own gratification without the interest or finesse to see to Anna's. Anna required finesse. "One night when we were getting ready for bed, Sally, my roommate, told me I needed to be careful. I didn't know what she meant."

John shifted his leg. This was where the story was going. He stared into the darkness and pulled Anna a little closer. She felt tense again.

"I should have asked what she meant." John tightened his grip. "I didn't think much of it until a few weeks later. Things had never been very… regular… and I didn't really notice until… things… were very late." John felt his heart tighten. He felt Anna take a deep breath. "I started to feel sick, all the time, and I was so tired. But then, my breasts hurt and there was some blood, and I thought…." Anna's voice shook. "The bleeding stopped almost as soon as it started. I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. I thought if I just went on as usual, it wouldn't be true." Anna had had a baby. "A housekeeper like Mrs. Hughes would have known immediately and turned me out. Luckily Mrs. Polwarth never noticed much of anything."

John took a deep breath. Anna had had a baby. "Eventually I had to tell Andrew. I was so scared; I didn't know what to do." Andrew, the cad, had left her. "He was excited, and asked me to marry him. I didn't want to, but I said yes. There wasn't anything else. I'd be dismissed, and my mother certainly wouldn't have had any more to do with me." Andrew kept surprising John. He did seem like a nice enough young man. Clearly the story was going to get worse. "That night, when I was awake in bed, I started thinking about my Pa, and all he'd planned for me. He wanted so much more for me than that. I felt like such a slut, and so stupid. This never happened to anyone else. I could see years and years ahead, living in a hut, with a dirt floor, and no money, and ten children. We'd be dirty and hungry. I would be old, and tired, couldn't love them, and if Andrew and I had loved each other, we wouldn't have by then. I didn't want that. I hoped I might die." Anna squirmed slightly. John didn't want to loosen his grip, but he did. The female swan was diving for food. "My mother never let me forget what a burden I was, and I didn't want that if I ever had a baby." It would be so easy, in that horrible situation, to turn into her mother.

If she had ever had a baby. Anna had been pregnant. Had she had a baby? It was worse than John had imagined. Anna had given up the baby. Andrew had left her, or died, and she had given up the baby. John slid his arm to rest around Anna's shoulders. She was looking into the darkness, blinking. Quivering. He wished she'd cry. Watching her struggle not to was too painful. "Anna." He braced himself. He let her draw nearer. "What happened to the baby?"

Anna was clenching her skirt. She took a deep breath. "I didn't have one." She nestled into the curve of John's body and looked up at the moon. "I woke up one night, with horrible cramps. I thought I was going to be sick. I was bleeding. I was bleeding a lot. I managed to get out to the privy without waking anyone. I spent the night out there." Anna's face was soaked in tears. "I couldn't see much, but I felt a lump come out." She leaned her head back so it was on John's shoulder. "I went back to my room just before daylight. Sally was awake. She asked me what I'd taken." She was whispering. "I didn't think she'd known. No one knew but Andrew. I hadn't taken anything." John pulled her onto his lap. "But I would have. I was so relieved. If I had known there was something I could have taken to make it stop I would have. I didn't want it." She tried to catch her breath. "It would have had a horrible life. It was better that it died. I didn't deserve a baby. I couldn't take care of one. But I loved it." Her voice finally broke.

John pressed her to his chest. He thought the mystery of her professed disinterest in children was solved. "The bleeding kept up, but not as bad. I handed in my notice the next day. Mrs. Polwarth found me this place. She said it was perfect for a girl like me with so much potential. She said she was sorry to lose me as I was the only girl who knew how to work and never gave her any trouble." Anna took another breath. "Andrew cried when I told him. He still thought we'd get married. He told me his parents had cleared a corner in their cottage for us, and that he loved me. I told him I didn't love him, and didn't want that kind of life, and walked away before I started crying." She buried her face in John's neck. "I felt so relieved that it wasn't going to happen, but I felt like I had killed the baby by not wanting it. It was better that it died, but I loved it."

John didn't know what to say. He smoothed his hands down her back as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry." He whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry that happened." She smelled like soap and sweat and powder and lavender. She was shaking. John suspected this was first time the grief had ever really come out. "I can't imagine how horrible it was." John blinked away a tear of his own. Anna burrowed into his neck. Her face was hot and she felt frail in his arms, and her arms felt cold through her sleeves. John held her tight against him with one arm, and tucked his coat back around her. Eventually her sobs quieted. Her breathing became more gentle. John rested his chin on her head as she slept. The swans drifted past, in perfect harmony. Swans mated for life.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Something John loved but never indulged in was to lie in bed, awake, of a morning, well past time to be moving. He always fell asleep late and awakened early, not always refreshed, and was out of bed with everyone else. As much he loved the dark quiet of the evening, and an open window near his bed, he relished the warmth of his bed at dawn. If he were ever left entirely to his own devices, John thought he would like to lie in bed, tangled in the warmth of his blankets with the bright light of the winter dawn peering through the window as he began to collect his thoughts for the day.

The house was beginning to stir. John rolled onto his back. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and remembered. It was his birthday. He stretched and groaned. His back popped, and his mouth tasted foul. His mother had always let him do as he liked on his birthday. It was the one day of the year allotted to him to be the most important, the most special person, and if he wanted to stay in bed late or eat nothing but apple cake and sausages it was his prerogative and she was happy to indulge him. It would be back to reality all too soon. John slid under the covers, rubbing his legs together, pulling his pillow further under his neck. He wanted to stay in bed.

It was not to be. He heard Mr. Carson, already in full voice, making his way to the bathroom. The morning rituals in the men's quarters were like being back in the army. Military life, prison life, had been excellent practice for service. John arched his back. He couldn't fight it much longer. He would have to get out of bed. Usually John was one of the first at the breakfast table. Today he was on track to be one of the last.

No one knew it was his birthday but Anna, and they both had a half day. She had asked him what he wanted to do, if he had any special plans. John had tried to think of something. All he wanted was a day with Anna. He felt dull, and a little sentimental, but that was all he wanted. She had grinned and reminded him they spent most days together, to an extent. What John wanted was a day away from the house, where he didn't have to think about Lord Grantham's new chaffing issue or deal with Miss O'Brien or hear Mrs. Patmore screaming at Daisy or be forced to be aware of the war or Vera's inability to answer a letter. Anna had smiled, leaned into him, and said she thought that could be arranged without too much trouble.

It would be a wonderful day. He just needed to get out of bed and start it. John yawned. He had delayed as long as he possibly could. He threw back the covers and stood. He shivered as the cold air from the open window hit his bare chest. His leg was stiff from the cold, but the only hope he had of sleeping was with the window open. He put on his undershirt and dressing gown, and hobbled to the window. The darkness was just beginning to break.

John considered his face as he shaved. He wondered if he looked his age. What did 50 look like? John had no idea. His was more lined than two years ago, but his hair wasn't graying. He had some loose skin at his neck which the stiff collars only emphasized, but he didn't feel noticeably different than a year ago. His leg was perhaps more stiff sometimes. John saw younger men darting in and out of the bathroom in the mirror. Some, like William, looked very young. John wasn't sure he had ever been that young. What did old look like? He nicked his neck.

Dressing, John took the time to examine his body. Since his injury, he had tried to stay in as best form as he could. He was pleased, overall, with what he saw. Some things had spread, shifted with the years and his limitations. Others, like his arms, were in the best shape they had ever been in. He turned to look at his profile as he buttoned his shirt. John and Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson were in ten years of each other. He hoped he wasn't getting fat. John thought he looked the best of the three. His father had died at 53. It hadn't seemed old to John then, but it had been so sudden. He selected his favorite tie, brown with a small paisley pattern. If he only had three years remaining, he needed to make certain he made the most of it. As Anna had said in London in the spring, youth's a stuff will not endure. He had so much to do. He combed his hair. John wondered if combing his hair the way he did aged him. Anna didn't seem to mind. He put on his jacket and gave himself a long final look in the mirror. If a beautiful young woman found him desirable, he had to be doing something right.

John was the last to breakfast. Anna was talking to Mrs. Hughes about what she would accomplish before her half-day commenced. She raised an eyebrow at John as he entered, hesitating over her words as he smiled. She had never beaten him to breakfast. Miss O'Brien was too busy fussing about Lady Grantham's new hairstyle to notice how late he was. Mr. Carson was grumbling about the clogged toilet in the men's lavatory. William noted that the news from the front was all dystentary and frostbite. John brushed against Anna's hip as he sat. She kept talking to Mrs. Hughes as she slightly brushed her leg against his. No one would notice. It would be a good day.

John watched Anna as he ate. She was beautiful. The morning after she told him about Andrew, she had been nervous with him. John was concerned that once alone she had regretted telling him. He didn't want her to regret anything. That morning he found her in Lady Mary's bedroom. She was alone, making the bed. John, without saying a word, stepped in to help, lifting the mattress so she could tuck in the blankets. Their hands met, then their eyes. Hers were wide and deep. Trusting. John knew he could take her, then and there, and she wouldn't stop him, she wouldn't love him any less. As she deserved better than a barn smelling of animal, she deserved better than someone else's bed with a married man. Anna trusted him with her deepest secret; she had laid herself bare to him. He would never do anything that would hurt her. He had stroked her small fingers, slowly, as she smiled, and they began to talk of nothing. She was pouring herself more tea. John's porridge was stiff and cold.

John's morning was perhaps more mundane than usual, and had it not been his birthday, it would have affected his mood. As it was, Lord Grantham's crankiness didn't bother him. John faced the information that his lordship's piles were now bleeding and that the laundress needed to change her soap on his under garments with good humour. John did not, however, intend to spend any part of his afternoon investigating new remedies. John suggested it was time to have a word with Dr. Clarkson on the matter. What had distressed John the most about Anna's story was that she had been hurt and frightened and there was nothing he could do about it. He had not been able to protect her. Isis had rolled in and then eaten something dead on her morning walk, and John needed to escort her to the stable for cleansing and grooming. Lord Grantham had abandoned her in the courtyard. Lord Grantham's rough morning was not going to affect John.

The first post of the day brought a parcel for John from his mother. He opened the package first, eagerly. She always knew exactly what books he'd like. The book was fairly slim, with gold gothic lettering on the cover. _Lays of Marie de France and Other_ _French Legends_ introduced and translated by Eugene Mason. John thought it looked familiar. He thought he remembered reading it. He opened it, and turned a few pages, reading at random. This was the book where valet was spelled varlet. He had read it. John sighed. He didn't envy his mother the task of picking books for him. She was bound to misstep sometime. He turned another page. This was his book. He remembered purchasing it soon after his release from prison. The bookmark he lost was still stuck between the pages. That was something, at least. His mother had given him that when he left for Africa. It was wooden, sturdy with a dark stain, with his initials. Perhaps his mother meant to send him the bookmark, and just left it where she found it. John sighed, and moved on to the letter.

Her usually clear handwriting was slanted and uneven, as if her hand had been shaking while writing. Dear Johnny…Never thought she'd live as long as she had and here her boy was 55… John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. When was he coming to London again…Bring Anna next time….Hoped he liked this book….Couldn't remember where she found it. John knew. It was in his bedroom, probably on the bureau. He needed to see her. She was slipping. Could have sworn she saw Vera lurking around Mrs. McGuinness's garden... John's heart skipped a beat. Couldn't get out in time to catch her….Mrs. McGuinness said it was her sister…Didn't believe her for a minute… Did he remember the birthday he fell off the roof in a snowstorm and broke his arm… That worthless boy Seamus had dared him. John remembered. He was seven, it wasn't his birthday, it wasn't even winter, and he was watching from the ground as his brother Michael fell from a ladder. Seamus hadn't had anything to do with it. Michael had wanted to see if the bird nest over the upper story window was still there, and the ladder slipped. John's biggest crime had been to drop large stones in the manure pit at his uncle's farm. They had made a satisfying sound when they hit. His mother and his uncle had not agreed. John needed to take some time off and go see her. Properly. Not just for an afternoon. Loved him and hoped he had a nice day. The corner of the paper looked as if she had spilled some tea on it.

John looked up from the letter to see Anna had entered the room. She was lingering in the doorway, watching him. She had changed into a dress of deep blue, and a grey coat that fit snug around her hips. John hadn't seen her hat before, and she seemed to be hiding something behind her back. They both smiled as she walked to him and sat in her chair.

"Happy birthday." She grinned. Her eyes sparkled.

"Thank you." John started to fold the letter. "I'm looking forward to starting it now."

She picked up the book. "This looks good."

John sighed. "It is. I've read it. I bought it when it was published four years ago."

"Oh." She opened to a picture of a damsel in a tower. "Well, as much as you read I'm sure it's hard for your mother to keep track."

"This is the copy I bought."

She put it back on the table. "How is your mother?"

John sighed again. "She's getting old. I need to go see her." He wanted to see her.

"When will you go?"

"I don't know. I know his lordship isn't planning to be in London anytime soon, so I'll need to take some time off and go. After Christmas." He should have gone before.

"I'd like to see your mother again." Maybe Anna could join him. She never took her allotted time off, and there would be no hint of impropriety if she was invited to stay with his mother. She grinned. "At least she didn't send Dickens!"

John laughed, and passed his hand over his eyes. "No, and if she ever does, we'll know her days are numbered."

Anna placed what she'd been hiding under the table on the table. "I thought you might like to open this before we left." She looked pale, and tired.

John smiled. They held each others gaze before Daisy dropping a pot made Anna jump. John started on the package. It was obviously a book, wrapped carefully in green paper. _Essays from the Scottish Englightenment_ _selected from the works of Adam Smith, John Reid, James Beattie, and David Hume._ It was perfect. Anna always knew. It would be a good day.

"I glanced at Hume's essay on miracles, and I think you'll enjoy it."

"I love it." All he would risk was a hand on her knee, under the table. "Now, I believe I had an outing scheduled with a lovely young woman to the city of Ripon. I'd hate to keep her waiting."

The wind was strong as they made their way to Ripon, the sky low and dreary. It would snow before the day's end. Anna had been more quiet of late. They had not been back to the temple since that night. The weather had been quite chill, but Anna had seemed suddenly tentative. John knew, as much as she knew he loved her, she was unsettled by her revelation. It was as if her trust in herself had faltered again and she wasn't sure how to regain it. John was concerned that Anna thought he might be somehow different, knowing what he now knew. He needed her to realize he was the same. Meanwhile, they had not kissed since. Their contact had consisted of long embraces in the darkened servants hall at night, a lingering touch under the table at meals or in passing in the hall. John didn't mind. As much as he desired Anna physically, he desired her companionship more. He loved her, and so he was prepared to wait.

The omnibus to Ripon was crowded, and they were unable to sit together. John was nearly thrown to the floor when it started to move while he was still trying to get Anna to take the seat near the front. She shook her head as she made her way to a free seat near the back, next to a fat old farmer with a pipe. When John turned to see if she was alright her shoulders were shaking and her cheeks were pink. John smiled. It felt good to see Anna happy.

She was still smirking and giggling when they alighted in Ripon. Had it been anyone else, John would have been angry, but Anna was able to make him forget about his leg, or at least laugh through his embarrassment. Had he fallen in public alone, he would have felt old. He put his hand just in the small of her back.

"Didn't anyone tell you no laughing at the birthday boy?" He could feel her shiver.

"No. I've never heard that." She grinned. "What do you intend to do about it?"

"I'm not sure." John removed his hat as they entered the cathedral. Anna was placing a coin in the box. "I suppose I should teach you some respect."

Her head snapped to John. She stared a minute, then grinned. "Someone has to." John's heart leapt as she said it. He chuckled. She was relaxing.

They walked slowly up the nave. Women were busy arranging garlands and angels. John had never been inside before. It was something he always meant to do, but never managed. His trips to Ripon were almost always on behalf of Lord Grantham, and what remaining time John had was almost always spent in the bookshop.

"Seems a waste to decorate such a place, doesn't it? It is grand enough on its own." John was struck by the details the stonemasons had added, the expressions, the vines. The cathedral was lighter and less ornate than some of the others John had visited. He found the comparative clean simplicity refreshing. He found he could almost believe in God.

"It does." Anna was bathed in the light from the stained glass windows. "Those women are hanging that garland the hard way."

John urged her forward. "Ignore them." He whispered. "Forget you know anything of hanging or cleaning or swagging today." The Christmas tree near the choir looked sad and feeble in the shadow of the pillars. If John had his way Anna would never hang another silly garland as long as she lived.

Anna let out a long breath and looked around her. "It is beautiful. I've been here many times, but there's always something new." A clergyman approached them. Perhaps, if they were visiting, they would like some information about the cathedral. Anna began to protest. The man wouldn't hear it. They would be interested to know that the ceiling bosses in the choir were five feet across. John wasn't interested to know that. He was interested that they were beautiful, and intricate, and showed detail and emotion and life. The man meant well. John smiled and looked up as the priest gestured. His daughter would certainly be interested in seeing St. Wilfrid's Needle in the crypt, where all the local brides tried to fit through the evening before their weddings. The priest was loud and fat. It proved they were maidens. He snickered. Wouldn't the young lady like to see that? Not that there would be any worries on that score.

While John was still considering his response, Anna had turned pale. She smiled at the priest, said they were in a hurry, thanked him for the information, took John's arm, and marched him out of the building. She didn't speak until they were well away from the cathedral precincts. "Well." She attempted a smile. "It was frightfully warm in there. Where to next?"

John raised an eyebrow at her. "The man was crass, but I think he meant well." Anna smiled. "It is an easy mistake, though you aren't quite young enough to be my daughter." Anna giggled. "I should take it as a compliment."

She grinned at him and clutched his arm. "Bookshop?"

"Bookshop."

The bookshop was tucked away in one of the narrow streets near the cathedral. It wasn't large, but it was well-stocked. John sometimes thought if he had a different life, a different career, he would like to run a small bookshop. Most of his best friends lived in books. Today, however, John was in the unusual position of not finding a single book to tempt him. Each title was either something he had read or knew he wasn't going to read. Other than in inferior bookshops, like that one at Downton, this had never happened. John felt confused, empty, disappointed. Dissatisfied. He found Anna. She was engrossed in a large ornate volume.

"Did you find something you'd like?" He peered over her shoulder. The text was embroidered with roses and peacocks and women who reminded John of the combs he had for Anna for Christmas in the drawer in his bedside table. Silver and enamel women with flowing hair and bare up-turned breasts. John swallowed. Anna noticed him standing behind her, and turned her head, smiling.

"It's so beautiful. Look at all the roses, and the princess." She turned the pages slowly so John could see. "I don't usually care for Tennyson, but there is something about this…"

"Then you should have it. I've always had a fondness for the sleeping beauty." They made their way to the counter and rang for the shopkeeper, who emerged from the back room, dusty and harried. It wasn't the man John usually dealt with. As he took John's money and wrapped the book, he remarked that it was so lovely to see a father and daughter out shopping together, especially this time of year. Anna smiled broadly at the man, and took John's arm. John thanked him, took the book, and wished him a good afternoon.

"Impertinent boor." John pulled his scarf tight around his throat. The wind had picked up.

"I thought it was an easy mistake?" Anna's cheeks were pink. "And that you took it as a compliment?"

"I…well…I do. I take it as a compliment that someone as young, and beautiful as you could want anything to do with me." Anna looked at the ground. "But something about the way he said it…I don't know." John sighed. "I suppose it is only natural to think about my age today."

Anna shook her. "You shouldn't do that. It just makes you morose." John laughed. "Our ages hardly ever occur to me. Only when other people point them out, like that minister. But then I remember, that really, it isn't any of their business."

John was cold, but he felt warm. "I love you too." He ran his hand lightly down her back. "Those men are just jealous. I suspect the one in the bookshop lives with his mother." Anna laughed. "You're right, as usual. If it weren't my birthday I wouldn't have cared."

Though it was a cold and windy day, Ripon was bustling. The second Christmas of the war seemed determined to be cheerful and festive. A few new shops had opened since John's last visit. He had no particular plan in mind, other than to spend as much time with Anna away from the house as possible. They waded through the people in the Corn Market, past the spot where the town trumpeter played each night, and came to a stop in front of a photography shop. John tugged Anna inside the door.

A young woman, who reminded John of Gwen, emerged from the back of the shop. When John told her they would like to have some pictures taken, she ushered them into the back room and showed them where they could leave their coats and hats. John helped Anna out of her coat. She pulled off her gloves quickly and turned to the mirror to fix her hair. John saw her reflection lick her lips as she watched his reflection remove his gloves. He smiled. Her reflection smiled back as she repaired what the hat had done to her hair. The jeweller had told John the combs were based on designs by the Glasgow artist Rennie Mackintosh, who designed tea rooms and houses with similar women. His were always discreetly wrapped in their hair, and adorned with roses. The bare breasts on the combs were only noticeable under close inspection; tucked in Anna's hair all that would be visible would be the bits of green and blue on the silver and the roses tucked in the nymphs' hair. They had reminded him so of her.

The photographer was ready for them. She was very businesslike, arranging them in the conventional pose of John sitting with Anna standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Between shots Anna's hand crept up John's neck, tickling just along his hairline. John shivered, and saw her lips twitch out of the corner of his eye. She moved her finger slowly beneath his collar, back and forth, and then removed it. John turned to her, and they smiled. They jumped and blinked at the camera's sudden sound and flash. The young woman smiled. She did enjoy taking pictures of couples in love. Anna blushed pleasantly as the smoke cleared. The photographs would arrive by post before Christmas.

Back in the street, John couldn't stop smiling. Anna fussed with her hat.

"Is that new?" He wanted to take her in his arms, right there, and kiss her.

"New to me." She shrugged her shoulders. "Old to Lady Edith."

"It suits you. Lady Edith has good taste."

"Well…" She looked away. "I picked it out, and trimmed it, knowing she wouldn't wear it more than one season before giving it to me."

John laughed. "You've been around Miss O'Brien far too long."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I just know Lady Edith. Tea?"

The tearoom was crowded and overheated. John had never understood the convention of ladies of keeping their hats and gloves on while men removed theirs. He was so warm, and wondered how women managed in their extra layers. John didn't have a particular fondness for sweets, but ordered a slice of the Ripon spice cake. Anna ordered a scone. The pot of tea was very large, and strong. John was grateful for that.

"How is your birthday so far?" Anna stirred milk and sugar into her tea.

"The best in recent memory." John took his tea black. Anna's face dissolved into the large smile he loved. Considering birthdays in recent memory had included one spent trying not to get shot, and another cleaning prison toilets, it wasn't a difficult choice. "At the risk of sounding like a sentimental old fool, I think this is the first time I've actually gotten exactly what I wanted." Anna's smile couldn't expand, but her eyes could.

John took a bite of his cake. "When I was a boy I regretted that it was so near to Christmas." It was dry and sweet and served with cheese. "My mother always made sure that my birthday was a separate event from Christmas, but my aunts didn't." It was terrible. He took a long drink of tea. "There were so many of us at first that we never received many gifts, but mother made certain we each had a special day." He couldn't possibly finish it.

Anna had a dab of clotted cream on the corner of her mouth. "And how do you like your cake?"

He poked at it with his fork. "Not at all. I should have listened to you." He ate the cheese. Anna wiped away the cream with her napkin.

"Is there anything else you'd like to do today?" She poured the last of the tea in his cup.

Many things. "Anything you'd like." She smiled. Nothing had changed, really, since her revelation. John understood now why she needed him to be in control of stopping. She trusted him enough to let her let herself go as she needed to. John understood. Her discipline was not unlike his own with drink. It all made sense, the fear he thought he sometimes saw in her eyes was not of him, it was of herself. John suspected the lack of interest in children was a way to deal with the trauma. Her confession had strengthened their love. The vulnerability she had offered him was so much more valuable than virginity. Virgins didn't know what they were offering.

It began to snow as they waited for the bus outside the Unicorn. Anna shivered. John wanted her to step into his embrace and be warm and snug, but neither of them would be comfortable with so many witnesses. They were able to sit together on the ride back to Downton. John took her hand. It felt cold beneath her glove.

They took the path through the woods back to the house slowly. It was dark, and John's leg was starting to ache. They stopped near at a stone wall. John sat. Anna couldn't quite reach. He wrapped an arm around her and drew her near.

"Thank you for a wonderful birthday." He whispered even though he didn't need to.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could spend it with you." Anna had a snowflake on her nose. "And…I'm so glad I told you." She was blinking like she might cry again. John couldn't have that. He pulled her to him, lifting her on to his lap, and wrapped his arms around her.

"So am I." He whispered it into her soft neck. She smelled of lemons and lavender and dried sweat and powder. For the first time since she had told him he kissed her. He had almost forgotten how good it felt. She twisted to him and groaned as the snow dusted their hats.

When they returned to the servants hall just before dinner, smiling broadly, laughing dangerously and sparkling with snow, a letter awaited each of them. Anna's was from her brother. John's was from Vera.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

John took out his watch for at least the fourth time in the last hour. Five minutes has passed since he had last checked. The train had only reached Harrogate. It was going to be a long trip.

Mrs. McGuinness had telephoned the previous afternoon just as the staff was sitting down to their Christmas tea. The Christmas celebrations this second year of the war were subdued. Only Lady Rosamund was staying. Mrs. McGuinness was talking very fast when John got to the telephone in Mr. Carson's office. His mother had taken a turn, and could he come to London. From what Mrs. McGuinness described, John believed his mother had suffered some sort of mild stroke. John urged her to find a doctor, and assured her he would be there the next day.

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson had immediately expressed concern when he returned to the table, but John didn't want his bad news to diminish the festive atmosphere. He had smiled, and said he would need to be in London for a few days. Anna looked concerned, but she didn't ask. He didn't want to mar the day for her. John sighed, and tried to settle into his seat. He liked Christmas, in spite of himself. The mystical reasons behind the holiday were utter nonsense, and yet there was something in it that appealed to John. He wasn't sure. Christmas wasn't one of those times when he wished he could believe, but there was something about the quiet peacefulness of the day, the sense of happiness and togetherness and joy. He was sure he would never understand.

John hadn't been entirely certain the trains would be running on Boxing Day. When he told Lord Grantham that he would need to be away, Lord Grantham had commented it was difficult enough to look after an ageing mother when she all but lived with them. He couldn't imagine doing it at a distance of 200 miles. John did notice that he seemed a bit wistful as he said it.

Snow had fallen overnight. Christmas morning had been snowless, but it had begun to snow during dinner, lightly. When morning came the ground was covered. John had been up earlier than usual. He had taken a few minutes from his packing to look at the land from his window. The sky was bright, the ground was shiny, and the trees were laden. He didn't have the chance to tell Anna about his mother until after dinner. Once the family was settled for the evening, the staff had a small party in the servants hall. Daisy had hung holly. She had given him a spare sprig, and John had tucked it into his button hole. Mr. Carson disapproved, but there was nothing he could do about it. John had slipped outside when William and Mr. Carson began singing carols. They had talent, but John needed the stillness. Anna had been dancing with Mr. Branson and was on the other side of the hall when John left. He wasn't sure she had seen him until he felt her touch on his sleeve.

"Lovely Christmas, isn't it?" The snow was falling slowly, caught in the few lights in the courtyard.

"It has been a very nice day." Anna stepped closer so John could wrap his arm about her shoulders. "You and Mr. Branson make a dashing couple."

Anna giggled. "He's so energetic. I don't mind at first, but I can't take much dancing with him. I think he jerked my arm." She rubbed it. "Did you know his family has a dancing troupe back in Ireland? The Bouncing Bransons or something daft like that."

John chuckled. "Should I speak to him?" She snuggled closer. "Or is this your subtle way of saying you prefer an old man with a limp whose dancing days are past?"

Anna looked at the sky. It was starry, even with the snow. "I seem to recall you being an excellent dancer. I was hoping we might have another chance." She had holly in her bun.

"I can't promise that I'll be back in time for the servants ball." Anna turned away from the sky towards him. "I have to leave for London in the morning. My mother's had a spell of some sort and I need to check on her."

"What does that mean, had a spell?" Anna looked concerned. "I had hoped to go with you next time you saw your mother." The strains of _The_ _Star Above the Garter_ drifted from the hall.

John sighed. "I know, I had hoped so too, but from what I was told, I think she had a stroke. I can't wait until we can both go." The party seemed to have gone over to dancing. He heard what he thought was _Christmas Day in the Morning_ on a fiddle played by the new hallboy, a Scottish fellow. "Mrs. McGuinness was to telephone again if the doctor thought it was serious, but I can't delay."

Anna drew closer. "I'm so sorry. You do need to go. You'll leave early?" John noticed she wasn't wearing anything over her dress.

"Yes." Anna shivered. The snow was sparkling. "Some good can come of it. I plan to try to see Vera."

Anna was quiet. A cardinal landed on a crate. "Be careful."

John was quiet. Be careful. Excellent advice. He intended to be, but he was always careful, until he lost his temper. The way snow made the land quiet and still was a marvel. John felt alive. He couldn't afford to lose his temper. "I'll try." He kissed her head. It was cold. "Shall we rejoin the party?" Mr. Branson was leaping across the room with Daisy to _The Wind that Shakes the Barley_.

Anna smiled and took his arm. "Yes, let's." That dance might be a possibility after all.

The train had reached Pontefract. A surprising amount of passengers got on. Vera's letter. Even though plenty of seats were empty, an old lady squeezed in across from John. She smiled, and hoped he didn't mind and that he had had a pleasant holiday. John wasn't in the mood to talk, but he didn't want to be rude. Left to his own devices, John would have delayed opening Vera's letter until it was no longer his birthday. He and Anna had had such a wonderful day, a much-needed wonderful day, and he didn't want it to be forever marred with news from Vera. Anna hadn't insisted he open it, but she did say there was no sense in delaying. They had opened their letters together, read them, and switched. John disliked Anna's brother intensely. The old lady was offering him a slice of fruit cake. He declined. It looked sweet and sticky. She was on her way to London to see her daughter. John offered he was on his way to see his mother. She smiled. Such a good young man. She had her knitting and her cake and hoped she wouldn't bother him too much, but she did hate to sit alone. It wasn't a bother at all. Anna's brother wanted her to agree to move in with them when her sister in law had her latest child. Permanently. He had made several insulting comments about her marriage prospects, and her duty to her family, and hinted at needing her savings. Anna had no intention of going, but even so, John wanted to pummel the man just on principle. The old lady had started her knitting. She said something about the snow. John agreed. He had no idea what he said.

Anna had read Vera's letter quietly, slowly, refolded it, and handed it back to John. He had read the letter from her brother three times over by then. Anna had cleared her throat, quietly, and asked him what he intended to do. John was so distracted by Edward Smith's presumptions he hadn't thought about Vera. The old lady seemed to be knitting socks. Vera hadn't given away much. She rarely did. She said only that she had been thinking about their last correspondence, and thought there were a few points worth discussing. John hadn't dared hope, not after the last time. John had said he would think very carefully before he did anything. Anna had smiled, kissed his cheek, and gone to change. Vera had not marred his birthday. The train stopped again. It was going to be a long trip. His leg was stiff from the cold and his seat. He would walk a bit.

The carriage wasn't crowded. Another old lady was travelling with her dog, who wanted to run between John's leg and his cane. He and Anna had met later on Christmas night, to exchange their gifts and say goodbye. It was so late it was barely still Christmas, but the air still had that sense of peace. Anna had changed into her nightclothes, John had taken off his collar and tie and replaced his jacket with his old sweater. Anna was already in her chair at the table when John returned to the hall. She had made more tea, and set out two mince pies. John paused in the door before he entered the room. Anna was looking towards the window, watching the glowing snow with her shawl drawn tight over her dressing gown. The lights were dim, and she glowed like the snow. John kissed her head as he slid into his chair. She blinked and tilted back her head, grinning.

"Are you all packed?" Anna poured his tea.

"No." Evidence of the Christmas party remained in the hall. "I don't envision much sleep tonight. I'll pack then."

"I'm so sorry. I wish I could go with you." So did John. It was selfish.

He sighed. "I know. It was bound to happen sooner or later, the way she's been lately." The tea was strong yet mellow. "I'm just glad Mrs. McGuinness found her soon after it happened. She had apparently just blacked out on the settee and dropped her tea cup." It was perfect. "I wish you could go as well."

Anna smiled. "You'll telephone if you need me? I am owed the time, and I don't care what anyone says about me going."

John kissed her cheek. "I may telephone just to hear your voice. Now wouldn't that be the scandal?" She giggled and leaned back, kissing him in earnest. He felt her shiver under her thin nightgown as his hands skimmed along her waist. It had been far too long.

Anna stopped first. She was serious again, but John loved the glow in her eyes. "I know you don't think it will help, but I'll pray for your mother."

"I don't think that it won't help." It was more complicated than that. "She'll appreciate it, and you believe it will help, and prayer certainly never hurt." The fire needed to be poked. "She loves you too."

Anna grinned as John tended the fire. "Please tell her I'm due for another tatting lesson."

"I will. She'll have to recover for that." He hoped his mother was still able to remember something about it. He knew so little about strokes, but if he knew his mother at all, she'd be do whatever she had to in order to recover. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, Christmas is all but over and I have something here with your name on it."

Anna's face lit up. "That's intriguing. I have something here with your name on it." A large book-shaped package appeared next to him on the table, as he produced his own small parcel for Anna.

"A necktie. How did you know?" Anna bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Her shoulders shook slightly. John winked, and peeled off the paper to reveal _Of Human Bondage_. "I've been reading about this." He opened to a passage that struck him as beautifully sad, but true. It was one of the queer things of life…saw a person every day…so intimate with him…could not imagine existence without him; then separation…and everything went on…and the companion who had seemed essential proved unnecessary. He couldn't have agreed more, yet some people became more and more necessary to existence with each passing day. "Thank you." He kissed her cheek. "It's perfect. I'll have it finished before I return I'm sure."

It was Anna's turn now. Her smile was so large she tried to hide it. It was a pleasure to select gifts for her, to watch her open them, to see if he got it right. John had added to the hair combs. He hoped she hadn't read _Persuasion._ John knew Anna had enjoyed _Sense and Sensibility_, and he thought the quiet patience of Anne Elliott would appeal to her far more than the self-righteousness of an Emma or an Elizabeth. John had no patience with Emma. Anna smiled at him. "This is the only one I haven't read. I meant to borrow the library copy, but I believe Lady Edith left it outside in a storm."

"I think you'll enjoy it. There's some Anne in you." Or was there some Anna in Anne?

Anna smiled. "I'm sure I'll have it finished by the time you return." She started on the tie on the small box. The jeweler had packed the combs in a small velvet case. John had wrapped that in green with a gold ribbon. Her breath caught when she saw the nymphs. "Oh John." She ran her finger along the rose-strewn hairline of one of them. They were amazingly detailed. "They're beautiful." She followed along the pert up-turned breast of the other.

"They reminded me of you." The snow was falling fast. They way her eyes shone, her smile, the quiet of stopped time. John felt he needed to whisper. He took one from the box, never dropping her gaze, and arranged Anna's braid in a coil at her neck. He tucked in the comb, and turned her head to admire his work. "Well, she's decently covered by your hair now." Anna chuckled. "But we know her hidden beauties, and she looks lovely perched there."

Anna turned to kiss him. With the silence and the snow and the dark, it made John feel light and dizzy. The fire was beginning to die. "Do you want to stay down here, or go on to bed?" He wanted to stay with her until the last possible moment. He didn't know how long he'd be away, or what he would be facing, and the holiday needed to last.

"Let's stay." They ate their mince pies, finished the tea, and sat in the bright darkness until the morning birds began to stir. Anna had curled into his arms, despite the scratchy wool of his old sweater. They barely made it back upstairs in time to get up for the day.

The train came to another stop, and John returned to his seat. The old lady was still knitting. She had finished her fruitcake, and was now wishing she had a way to pack tea in her bag. John wished he had as well. His companion looked to be a few years younger than his mother, in much the same mold but where John's mother was forthright and unsentimental, this lady seemed genuinely sweet. John knew something like this was coming for his mother; she hadn't been quite herself lately. He found himself wondering if it would be better if she had died. She wouldn't want to linger.

The old lady asked what he did that took him so far from home. She was impressed. She had been a housemaid before she married, but nowhere so very grand, just a parsonage. John smiled and turned to the window. The countryside was changing. Still dusted in snow, but different shapes created the forms. Mrs. McGuinness had said she'd knocked, and Mrs. Bates hadn't answered. Sometimes it took her a while to get to the door, but it took longer than usual and she had knocked again. When there was still no response, she used her key and found Mrs. Bates seated in her chair, starring. She didn't seem to know her at first, and then she did but she couldn't speak. She had assured John she would do whatever was needed until he could be there. John was fairly certain she thought he was a bad son, and worse husband, but it didn't matter. There had been a time he would have cared, would have been offended, but now he wanted her to keep feeding information to Vera. He needed to keep Vera close, for now.

She was asking him if he had any family of his own. John saw a deer at the wood on the edge of the tracks. Did he have any family. That was a simple question, and he was taking far too long to answer it. The truth wasn't appropriate. She was just making conversation; his answer wouldn't matter. Anna would raise an eyebrow at his confusion. John hated it when he had to confess the reality of his marriage. He answered her question. She was sorry he didn't have children, but maybe it wasn't too late. Would he like part of her sandwich?

John had heard his mother once remark that children weren't necessarily a blessing. It had been in response to a neighbor who had commented on her lack of grandchildren. She had commented that she didn't think it her business to inquire after the family plans of her son and daughter in law, and in some instances, it was better off if a couple remained childless. The neighbor she had been speaking to had been surprised that she could say such a thing. John hadn't been. He knew part of it was born of the loss of all her children save him. Mostly, though, it was because of Vera. To his mother's credit, she had never spoken against Vera to him until the end of their marriage. John considered that to be about a year after he was back from Africa. It was irretrievably over by then. It was typical of his mother to hold her tongue. He respected her for that. She would watch, silently, critically, while he lived his life, and then would offer unsolicited guidance, as she had done in the spring, reminding him forcefully that he was never too old for maternal advice. John had known immediately that she didn't like Vera. Sometimes he wondered if part of his attraction to Vera had been that she was exactly the sort of woman his mother would disapprove of. His mother had watched their relationship deteriorate, and held her tongue until John decided to try to change his life.

The train was stopping again. His companion had nodded off, crumbs of her cake and her sandwich sprinkled on her coat, her knitting in a heap on her lap. John checked his watch. Anna would be working in the girls' rooms about now. The day after Christmas was always a little sad. Weeks of busyness, and then the excitement, and then the lull before the new year. As a boy, John had found it a troubling time. He had wondered if something was wrong with him. He was relieved to find his mother felt the same way, that Anna felt the same way, but they were able to enjoy things as they came, in their time, and move on when they were over. John knew he was sometimes too caught up in anticipation to appreciate the present. He took out Vera's letter.

John had not responded. He hardly knew what to make of it. It was snowing again. Dear John. Had recently changed her situation. New opportunities. Had rethought his previous propositions. Had heard he had moved on. Perhaps it was time to formalize things. Wouldn't pretend she hadn't had offers. Most were better than anything he could ever hope to offer. Heard she was a young thing, and blond. Providing John was able to satisfy and settle certain debts, so far as she was concerned he could have his floozy. Had heard his mother was failing, really must do the right thing and call one day. So busy with the new job, but she must find the time. They should meet when he was next in town. So much to discuss.

John folded the letter, re-inserted it in the envelope, and returned it to his pocket. Nothing was so cruel as false hope. The train was approaching Kings Cross. He would be careful. At least, he would try.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

John didn't need to take out his watch. He didn't want to know how long he had been waiting. Twenty minutes, at least. Vera had never been punctual.

The waiter was eyeing him. He had been by the table a number of times to see if John was ready to order, or needed more tea. John hadn't had any tea. It was correct to wait for Vera. The tea would be undrinkable by the time she arrived. If she arrived.

A few days after his arrival in London, John sent a note to Vera suggesting they meet. They had much to discuss. She had agreed, and they had fixed upon this date and this location. She had opted for the lounge of an especially fine hotel in Belgravia. John took it as a sign of her mood. He wasn't sure what to expect.

The waiter was hovering. Vera would arrive, of that he was certain, but she would make an entrance. He had hoped that meeting in public would encourage Vera to exercise some degree of restraint. John wasn't nervous. The teapot was growing chill. He wondered why, when he said he was expecting someone, the waiter had brought it. He was apprehensive. He could have a cup. It might help. John sighed. Whiskey would help more. It always did, with Vera. He knew exactly what to expect.

His mother had warned him as he left to be careful. He hadn't told his mother his hopes for the meeting. He couldn't bear to create false hope in her. As he put on his hat to leave, she had told him to just get rid of her. Vera would sweep in, icy, charming, pointed, alluring, jagged, highly colored, loud. Spiteful. She would know, even with their years of separation, exactly what to say to get a reaction. John would react, as she wanted, and Vera would win. Her eyes would have that look of smug triumph, the look that knew she could conquer anything. He could not let Vera win. There was nothing to win. Anna had warned him to be careful. He could win his freedom. He would be careful. Just get rid of her.

John shifted. The room was warm, but the day was dark and damp. The other Vera was also a possibility. The Vera who was inexplicably mired in hopelessness, the lump who would spend days on end sunken in a chair, drinking, or now as John suspected, using drugs. John thought the only thing that prevented her from taking her life when she was like that was that she would lose the chance to make him miserable.

At first John hadn't known the other Vera existed. When they were first together, she had been wild and exciting. Energetic and energizing. Being with her was an adventure, in bed and out. Money was hard to keep; he never understood where it all went but they managed to stay out of debt. Barely.

John looked around the room. It was all done in velvets and silks and crystal and silver. Twinkling chandeliers and soft conversation. He thought he knew which Vera he was getting. John had noticed that she tended to make enemies. New people would be around for a while but then they would disappear, sometimes very angrily, almost always quickly. Vera would sniff and say no one had ever liked her, or understood her, but John. He had thought it odd that her friendships could turn so negative, so fast and so often, but he hadn't thought much more about it. He had had his own concerns.

John could use a smoke. He had noticed a difference in Vera when he returned from Africa. Wilder, more frantic. Always off somewhere in a hurry, but he was never sure where. Sometimes he wouldn't see her for a week. Or more. Other times, she would collapse in a heap for days on end, only rousing herself for a fresh drink. She would hatch grandiose schemes to make or take money and pursue them tirelessly for days, only to fall short, and lose it all as she sat limp in her chair and cursing her life, her lot, and John. It was if there were two Veras.

He couldn't seem to stop tapping his foot under the table, his fingers on the table. There was no money then. She had never missed a pay day. John thought he had beat her to the paymaster only three times. She took the money and spent it on clothes or invested it in one of her schemes. It never lasted long enough to pay down the debts she had accrued while he was in Africa. John still wasn't sure how she managed to spend so much; his pay had gone directly to her then as well. He had never known if or when another debt collector would show up on the doorstep. He needed to get out, and drinking was his only way. It had been a blessing when she decided to steal the silver from the officers' mess. One morning, as he covered her with a blanket while she snored in her chair, he discovered a sack full of spoons and a goblet with the regimental insignia. He sighed. He knew he couldn't save her, he couldn't save their marriage, but he could save himself.

John sighed. He wondered, of the couples having their tea around him, how many were happy. How many loved each other? How many had somehow confused love and duty? He gave up waiting for Vera, and poured. The waiter appeared. No, he was still waiting. For his wife. Didn't want the tea to go to waste. John thought the young man might have a brighter future after a few lessons from Mr. Carson. He hoped Vera decided to show up soon. He didn't want to leave his mother with Mrs. McGuinness longer than necessary. The tea was sour. John broke his policy and added milk. It was undrinkable.

The doctor had told John it was the beginning of the end. His mother had had a small stroke, and would likely have another and another. That explained the forgetfulness, the slight tremor. Her mind was clear, and she could speak, but she had lost the use of her left arm. She had been angry when John told her he was hiring someone to stay with her. She refused to be treated like an old invalid. John understood. She hadn't spoken to him for a day. He understood perfectly. The family pride. He didn't mean to hire a nurse, but he couldn't look after her, and there were certain limitations. She would learn to dress herself and cook using her right arm only. John had no doubt that she would. He was more comfortable with someone else in the house, just to be there. Perhaps a young lady who was attending school. She could lodge with her, and be around to help if needed, but not intrusively. John wasn't a fool. He'd warn the girl not to say she was in nursing school. A nurse would never do.

The sky was darkening. John noticed the holly on the tables needed to be refreshed. Anna would have noticed immediately. John couldn't seem to keep his foot from tapping. He hadn't seen Vera since he went to prison. He hadn't thought he'd see her again. She had done exactly what he had thought she would do. Disappear, promptly and efficiently. She had done exactly what he had hoped she would do.

John reached into his pocket and took the letter from his wallet. Out fell the photograph of him and Anna taken on his birthday. His best birthday in memory, which made it his best birthday. True to word, the photographs had arrived just before Christmas. Anna kept hers inside a book-not her Bible out of deference to John-next to her bed. John liked to keep his with him. Anna had been so beautiful that day. He quickly put it away before Vera caught him. Abstract knowledge of Anna was all John wanted her to have.

A tall woman entered. Dark, regal posture, in a large hat. It was her. John took a breath, and began to rise. She passed. It wasn't her. He wondered how she had aged. Vera had never been beautiful, and had certainly never been pretty, but she had always been captivating. Alluring, with the pale skin, dark hair, and light eyes of the Celts. She was inclined to heaviness, and considering how she drank, John suspected the years had not been kind.

Vera had pursued John relentlessly. He hadn't had a lot of experience with women, and had been flattered. They had fallen into bed quickly, and easily, and John had thought he was in love. They were insatiable. They had married quickly as well, at the registry, in case a need to be married suddenly arose. His mother had said nothing, but John was sure her neighbors had. He hadn't cared. John was an eager student, and had soon learned that Vera was difficult to please in all ways. It took a great deal of effort to satisfy her, and when he failed, she let him know he had failed. She was tireless. John had had concerns about callusing. When it came, the war had almost been a welcome respite.

The woman was seated near John. On closer inspection, aside from her height, she was nothing like Vera. She had kind eyes, and a lopsided smile. Vera had given off an almost electric energy that was impossible for John to turn from. He had had glimmers before the war, but it wasn't until he was home from Africa that he realized how destructive it was. It had been in one of those infrequent moments of sobriety that he realized he had never loved her, that being with her was going to kill him, possibly through his own hand.

Snow was falling. He took her letter out of the envelope. John could count the number of times Vera had written to him. Eight, perhaps, in the course of their marriage. They hadn't exchanged letters while he was in Africa; John had moved around too often for it to be plausible. He was unprepared for what awaited him upon his return to England. Vera had changed. Dramatically. Her face had sharpened into a permanent sneer, and her eyes had changed. They had a shine sometimes, a glint that worried John. John knew he too had changed, but it wasn't unexpected after surviving hand to hand combat. Vera had not been sympathetic to his injury and his limitations, her concern for his welfare had extended only to what it meant for her. She had, however, been as eager as ever to get him in bed. His first night back he had had a bit of trouble with his leg, ultimately collapsing on top of her. She hadn't been sympathetic. She had told him his leg was disgusting, useless, he was a cripple. No cripple would satisfy her. He was useless to her. John had collected his thoughts, put his pajamas on, and gone to the kitchen for a drink. She later made it clear that since he had abandoned her, she had found other outlets for her energies, and would continue to do so until he was no longer a useless, drunken, cripple. John had been too numb with drink, too preoccupied with all that had happened in Africa to care. Much. John wasn't surprised Vera had new prospects. What surprised him was that she might be willing to let him go.

John sighed. He didn't think Vera was coming. The afternoon had rapidly turned into evening, with snow. He wanted to get back to his mother's before it turned slick. Hiring a cab would be a concession to weakness, and he needed the time to clear his head. Tomorrow was the last day of the year. He wouldn't be dancing with Anna, or watching her dance with Mr. Branson. He had danced with Vera early in their courtship. She wasn't graceful, but she had moved easily with him, and stood closer and lingered longer than any other partner he had had. She was able to hold his eyes with hers through all the figures, and she jumped and snapped and cried out at all the right places. She had been captivating, and John had been lost. She had won him so quickly and so easily he was embarrassed to remember how it had been.

A couple across from John seemed to be having a heated disagreement. He was uncomfortable. He and Vera had not had disagreements, they had had fights. Fights about nothing. His temper had always been short, and hers was nonexistent. He was always in the wrong, and usually it had something to do with money or not being a cripple. Drink did nothing good for John's temper. A snide comment from Vera would lead to criticism from John, and it would escalate until an object flew at his head. John knew if he stayed much past that point he would lose control, so he would leave for the pub. Vera was never there when he returned. He sometimes had hoped he'd find her passed out, dead, on the floor. She had always returned after a few days, flat and lifeless. Sometimes he hoped he'd fall down drunk on his bad leg on the way home and not make it. He was never that lucky. The cycle always started again.

John took out his watch. He had been waiting an hour. She wasn't coming. He didn't need to reread her letter. He had committed it to memory after the fourth read. He wadded it up. He didn't know why he had believed she was genuine. She had won, again. She always did. John had no choice but to play her game. He stood, put money on the table for the tea and the space he wasted, obtained his hat and coat, and left. Really, there wasn't that much to say. There certainly was nothing to discuss. He could not imagine a life for himself that involved Vera. Sharing that with her did not require seeing her. He had been a fool for trying to compromise, for believing rational discussion was possible between them.

The cold air felt good. His leg would ache later, but it didn't matter. He and Anna would have to play Vera's game. He sighed. By this stage in his life, he should know better. He should know Vera better than to take her at her word. False hope. He chuckled.

As John turned the corner he saw a tall woman in a large hat lurking behind a street lamp. Her face was pale and her eyes a pale flashing blue. She was gaunt, haggard, and nervous. He paused, and met her eye. The years had not been kind. He knew she wanted him to follow her, or at least to speak to her, or shout angrily. John kept walking.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

John tightened his scarf, and rebuttoned his coat. He was afraid for his hat. The wind had a bite. It had hit as soon as he had descended from the bus. John looked up the hill towards Haworth. It was going to be a long walk.

John had arrived back at Downton in early January to find that Anna had been called away by what remained of her family. She had departed a few days before he arrived, and had left a note. Her sister-in-law had died in childbirth, as had the baby, which was early. Her brother needed Anna to help him with the house, the funeral, finding homes for the surviving children. Anna had written that she didn't want to go, but she did see it as a duty. It was the right thing to do, and Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary had insisted. She would return in two weeks' time. John was surprised that she hadn't responded to anything in his last letter regarding the lack of progress with Vera, but when he reached Dowton he saw the letter waiting with another piece of post for Anna. His letter looked as if it had travelled all of England. John was having trouble keeping his footing on the steep street. It wasn't rainy, but the cobblestones were wet. Someone had placed stones like steps along the sides for horses to keep traction. He considered using them for his cane.

John had written to Anna again the night he arrived. He told her about his trip north, and about his mother. His mother had made it clear she hoped to see Anna again before she died. John had chuckled as he wrote that. He told her what he thought the next step should be with Vera. He had given it a great deal of consideration on the train. Mr. Ford had been away when John stopped by his office, but John would write him. Adultery was the only basis on which he could sue; surely abandonment equated adultery. He knew it did, in her case, with her history. He wondered if a court would accept it. He told her she didn't owe her brother anything. Duty was a slippery word. John wrote that he was sitting in the servants hall with tea and a candle, and that the fire was dying. He imagined her there with him, sitting up far too late, in companionable silence. He hoped to see her soon. He thought, but didn't write, that he would come to her if she needed him to do so. He signed it love John.

That had been over two weeks ago, and Anna had not responded. She had been gone well beyond her allotted time, with no word. Mrs. Hughes was especially worried. She had confided to John one morning that she didn't know Anna's brother, but she thought it telling that she had never visited or spoken of him, and it was unlike Anna to not return when she said she would, or not to send word that she wasn't or couldn't. If Anna had decided not to return to work, she would have let them know and served out her notice. Mrs. Hughes didn't think that was what had happened. John said very little about what he knew of Anna's family, but what he said seemed to confirm Mrs. Hughes's unexpressed fears. John had left for Haworth next morning.

And there he was, holding onto his hat as he wrestled with his cane to keep balance as he climbed the hill of the village's street. Once he was about half-way up the hill, John paused to take in his surroundings. It was without doubt the most depressing place he had ever been, perhaps excluding prison. The buildings and road were grimy and black. The sky was a forboding grey. The wind blew with a purpose. He saw no people, but the shops seemed to cater to a tourist market eager for Bronte novels and picture-postcards of the parsonage. The place would feel bleak on a bright day.

Anna's brother's farm was beyond the village proper, but that was all John and Mrs. Hughes knew. John planned to stop somewhere and ask. A shop perhaps, or the pub. Bookshops lined the street. John picked one, and entered. It specialized in Bronte novels, and memorabilia. John didn't especially care for their works. They weren't without merit, and were worth reading once, but not re-reading, and certainly not loving. John thought Anne the talent of the family. She had a subtly lacking in Charlotte and Emily. The shopkeeper emerged, a stout woman with a high bosom and just a hint of a moustache. She spoke. John had no idea what she was saying. The accent was unlike anything he had ever heard. He couldn't possibly ask her for directions. He'd more likely to find Anna by just heading out across the moors. John smiled, and fumbled with a book he didn't want. He was wasting time. As he put it down, a slim volume caught his eye. _Poems_ by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. He flipped through it. Most were dreadful, but then one labeled Ellis stopped him. It reminded him of Anna. John paid for the book and returned to the street.

As John reached the top of the hill, the main features of the village came into view: the church, the pub, the post office, and the apothecary. John suspected the pub and apothecary saw more business, from the locals at least, than the other businesses. He entered the pub. The Black Bull. An ominous name for such an English establishment. It was likely to be a long walk, and his leg was already protesting.

The heat was overpowering, especially after being so long in the damp. John had heard that the best way to get to know a place was to visit the pub, but they were all the same. He supposed it was the people who were in the pub that was meant, but even so, they were all the same. Overtly. The locals were eyeing him, presumably attempting to determine his business. He nodded to one or two of them, ordered, and took a seat. John had assumed that this place would be relatively free of Bronte memorabilia, but then he saw the chair, carefully preserved and labelled, and remembered their degenerate brother. The self-conscious poet who really wasn't any good at anything, even drinking. John understood how living in a village as oppressive as this could lead even the strongest of minds to drink.

The place was actually rather bright and clean. John suspected it had to be, considering the literary pilgrims. It seemed whatever local character the place had was being corroded by Bronte nostalgia. He saw several photographs of other associated sites, and advertisements for guidebooks and commemorative publications. It was all the town had, but it was sad to see it didn't maintain any other sense of identity. Anna had never said much about it, other than how the graveyard ended just at the door of the parsonage and how sad she thought that was. The landlady brought his food. John thanked her. She hesitated. John asked if she could tell him the way to Edward Smith's farm.

The door slammed. The woman blinked as if she wasn't sure she had heard correctly. John repeated the question. She turned, and smiled at the latest patron. She returned to John, eyeing him up and down. Unusual for someone like him to be asking after Edward Smith. She smirked. Her accent wasn't as strong, but some of what she said simply didn't sound English. Unless he was collecting debts. John smiled. A chance for some local gossip. He wasn't collecting money, but he did have some business at the farm. John took a sip of his tea. It was strong and bitter and perfect.

The landlady wished him luck. She slid into the seat across from John. Edward Smith was a piece of work. Everyone knew he beat his wife; it was no surprise when she finally died. Of course, they both drank more than they should. She turned serious. But not at her establishment. She didn't serve the likes of them. This was a quality public house with standards and a reputation. She leaned forward. He looked like a learned gentleman. Had he ever heard of Branwell Bronte? She'd be happy to show him….John interrupted. He really didn't have the time, needed to be going. John was sure he was about to become the afternoon's topic. The farm was a fair walk. She looked at his cane. He could manage, he was sure. She didn't seem as sure. The path was steep and rocky. She could find him a ride. John protested. Walking was fine. She sighed. She didn't mean to be rude, but really, he should accept a ride. John wondered what he was in for, and accepted. She noticed he didn't have a bag. Obviously he had underestimated this trip. She'd keep a room waiting for him. John protested. Again, he didn't understand. He wouldn't make the last train. John didn't respond. She stood, brushing her hands on her apron. Edward Smith's young sister was staying with him, she'd heard, but she hadn't lingered in the village after the burial. She hoped she was alright. Annie, or Emily, or something like that had been such a sweet girl. She prayed Edward had some decency left in him. She said it as an afterthought as she walked back to the bar. John felt very cold.

John was glad he had given in and accepted a ride. He never could have managed this landscape with his cane and in a suit. The route was difficult enough in a cart. John couldn't understand much of what the driver said. In addition to having a heavy dose of local accent, he lacked teeth. He seemed glad of the company. How had Anna escaped this manner of talking? Her voice had a lilt, a softness, not these rough edges. The wind sounded like someone screaming. The landscape was nothing but rocks, with the occasional barren tree, branchless on one side and leaning from the wind. Dormant heather and gorse dotted the ground. Dilapidated cottages and tumble-down stone walls enclosed a few sheep, which stared as they passed. The driver had lapsed into silence. John was glad. But for the screaming wind and rattling wheels of the cart, all was silent. He was unsettled by what the landlady had said. A vulture passed overhead. John knew nothing good of Anna's brother, but it hadn't occurred to him to be worried for her safety until now. The idea that Anna might be hurt, might be in trouble, might be in pain consumed him. What these people found to farm John had no idea. The man was muttering something about how the Smiths hadn't always been this way.

The cart stopped. The driver gestured to John the path he needed to follow. John offered him some money. The man shook his head, and pulled his reigns. He didn't look back. John swallowed, and turned to the path. The sky was blue.

John's heart sped up, and he began to sweat. Anna was alright. He and Mrs. Hughes were overreacting. The clouds were lowering and the sky was black. John thought it was only in Scotland that the sky could change so quickly. John was walking slower than usual, but he seemed to be moving too fast. He thought of the poem. No coward soul is mine, it said. Anna had sent a letter, and it had gone astray. A dog was starring at him. John wondered if it was Anna's brother's. She would laugh at them, and John would be home in time to get his lordship ready for bed. He would take Anna to dinner on the way. He saw the house. There was no obvious indication that it was part of a farm. John wished rather than believed. It looked like all the others on the moors, but for the roof. It had one.

As John approached the door, he heard a sound he didn't like. Masculine shouting. He couldn't quite make out the words, but it hardly mattered what was said. He sped up, his cane tapping on the frozen ground. The door opened, and what appeared to be bundles of cloth flew out of it, followed by a large bag. Anna's suitcase. The door slammed shut. John was now close enough to hear what was being said. Anna had been planning to leave after her brother was unconscious, which based on what John heard, wouldn't be much longer. Edward objected. John stepped over Anna's white nightgown.

John saw no reason to knock. As he pushed the door open with his cane an empty bottle crashed into the wall just above where Anna was standing. He cleared his throat. Anna's eyes grew large. Her brother's were narrow and squinty. John looked around the room. It really wasn't bad. A touch shabby, but clean. He suspected that was Anna's doing. He wished to heaven she was not a maid, but she was a frightfully good one. John laid his hat on the table and removed his gloves. He asked Anna if she was ready to leave. Anna's eyes grew larger. John thought of the poem. She wasn't afraid.

John noticed empty bottles in the corners. Anna was dressed in her coat. John introduced himself to Mr. Smith. John watched as Edward processed his name. It shouldn't have meant a thing to him, but it seemed to. John Bates. The married man his sister was carrying on with. Anna's face had gone white. Nothing but a whore. Always had been. Didn't think she'd fancy an old cripple. John's letter had been intercepted. That was why she hadn't answered. Edward sneered. So she'd written him after all and here he was to save her, to keep her from her duty. An old cripple and a young whore. She wasn't going anywhere. Fancy man like him wouldn't want her after he knew about her, but then, he didn't care about reputation. He and Anna were alike there. Edward spat. He was exactly the type of man who would want a whore like his sister. All he could get. It was her place to take care of her family. Wasn't like she was sending him her wages like she should. Nothing for her to spend them on, and here he was with a family. John blinked, and took a deep breath. John suspected the children would never see the benefit of Anna's annual eighteen pounds. John felt his grip on his temper slipping away. He urged Anna to collect her things, as they were leaving presently.

Anna listened. John looked around the room. He saw no signs of children. Edward was taking a step towards him. His eyes were wild. He'd been drinking for days. Anna wasn't going anywhere. She'd been getting fancy ways, and it was time for her to remember where she came from. A fight was coming. It had been John's experience that small men were always the nastiest. John knew attempting to reason with Edward would, at this point, be uesless. Frustrating. He just needed to keep his temper. He saw a half-made doll near the fireplace. He took a breath. Anna was respected and valued by one of the most prominent and influential families in the country. A confidant of the daughters of the house. He should be proud. Edward spat. She was a whore. He eyed John. As he knew only too well. How many times had he had her?

John could feel his fist clenching and swinging at Edward's jaw, but he wasn't aware of his movements. He heard his mother's voice. Temper Johnny. How dare he call Anna anything other than a lady. Edward was lunging for him. Something about an old lame dandy. Edward reeked of alcohol and sweat. John barely registered the pain in his shoulder as it was hit. How dare he say anything against Anna? Temper, Johnny, with greater insistence. Sorry excuse for a man. Was he blameless? Was he? Useless stinking drunk. John swung harder, landing on Edward's nose. Drunk as he was, he fell. Anna returned clutching her suitcase, pale and her eyes wider than ever. John kicked at his chest. Temper, Johnny. Blood was pooling on the floor. It felt so good. Euphoric.

"John!" He really didn't think she'd object, too much. "What…"

John straightened his neck tie. "He insulted you." She looked pale, and haggard. "And I have a feeling it wasn't the first time." John hadn't broken a sweat. He still had it.

She looked away. "We'd better go before he comes round." She wasn't moving.

"That will be a while." John leaned over Edward. He was unconscious, whether from drink or John's punch he wasn't certain. "Where are the children?" Other than poor abandoned half-made doll, John had seen no signs of them.

"They've been spread amongst the neighbors." She took up the doll. "Edward…well….he's really not much of a father, and he said he was going to enlist."

John raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure His Majesty will be grateful for his service." It would be an illuminating experience for Edward. "Likely for the best with the children." The blood had stopped flowing from Edward's face. "We'd better go."

Anna didn't move. She was starring at the doll. Her shoulders were shaking. John moved towards her. Her face was soaked. He pulled her close. She crumpled against him. John could barely understand what she was saying her voice was so broken.

"The children…he…." She gasped. John wasn't sure he wanted to know. He could imagine. "And they said that he…." John suspected he knew exactly what he had done to their mother. "And I promised Hetty I'd finish her doll….and I didn't and now she's gone." John thought he could solve that one.

"We'll take it with us, and send it to her." Anna looked up, and blinked, as if she wasn't sure what he meant. "We'll send her a box. We'll send the doll, and a picture book and…whatever else it is that little girls like. Hair ribbons?" Anna smiled. John felt a bit lighter. "Tell me about Hetty." They really needed to leave.

Anna sniffed. "She's three, she's the youngest girl." She took a deep breath. "David threw her old doll down the privy." She looked away. "Their father did that once with mine. My mother never…." Tears overtook her again. She took a deep breath. "I…I promised she could have a new one." She dried her eyes on her sleeve. "I let her down."

John sighed, and pulled her tighter. "You didn't disappoint her. Think how excited she'll be to get the box."

Anna pulled away, and began to button her coat. "You're right." She found her hat. "I'm sorry. I…I don't know what it is about Hetty." She picked up her gloves from the mantle. "I don't even like children." Her voice wasn't firm. Of course she didn't. John had never fully believed that. "Make sure you get my money from his pockets." It was going to be a very long evening.

John wasn't sure why he was surprised that Edward had taken Anna's money. It made sense, but it appalled him in a different way than the violence and the foul language had. He rolled him over with his foot and saw a handful of notes sticking out of his back pocket. Anna looked puzzled as John rested Edward's head on his bent arm.

"So he won't choke to death if he's sick." He pulled himself up on the edge of the table. "I believe this is yours." She smiled, and put the money in her handbag. "Now, we really should be leaving." Darkness was falling, and it felt like snow. It smelled like snow. Edward regaining consciousness was the least of their problems. "Shall we?" John put on his hat and gloves, retrieved his cane, and took Anna's bag from the floor.

"I can carry it." She tried to take it from him.

John smiled at her. "I didn't come all this way so you could carry your own bag."

Anna was kissing him. His hat fell to the floor. She was kissing him so strongly that he nearly lost his balance. John dropped the bag and his cane, and wrapped his arms around Anna's waist, pulling her tight. She was kissing him with such vigor that John wondered what her intentions were. He hated to stop, it had been too long, but they really needed to go. Anna pulled away first, and smiled. It was so good to see her smile. "Well, we'd better be going."

The force of the wind was like a smack in the face. John started down the path the he'd used when he arrived, but Anna pulled his hand in a different direction.

"We're not going to Haworth."

"We're not?" The light was rapidly disappearing. They had missed the last train, that was certain. They needed to find a place to spend the night that had a roof, and a bed, and a locking door.

"This isn't the first time I've run away from home." John smiled. He had wondered. "We're going to Stanbury. It is easier to get to on foot, and before you say you can manage, you can't. On foot to Haworth we'd have to cross a waterfall. This way are only stone walls and sheep." Sheep. "And Edward will head to Haworth when he wakes up." That was not a scenario John wanted to watch unfold. He had a feeling Edward was a slow learner. "And everyone in Haworth knows me. I don't want…." She didn't have to finish. She didn't want to be the talk of the village.

Anna led them up to the top of a small hill. John struggled with his cane and the bag, but kept up. The terrain was rocky, and steep, dotted with rocks and sheep. Anna had not been afraid. No coward soul.

"Anna." She waited for John to catch up. "How did he know?"

She turned and looked towards a distant tree line. "Andrew told him." Her voice was calm. "He married Sally, and, well, so few people ever leave here, and you know how people talk in families." John detected a quiver to her smile. Her voice was almost too calm. "It doesn't matter. I never plan to see them again."

"Anna, I…" He wished he'd been there sooner, he wished he could take her away and keep her safe and protected and loved and valued for all her days. He wished she didn't have to work in such a back breaking, dirty job. He wished the kick had broken something.

"It doesn't matter." Her smile was more convincing. "We really do need to go."

They trudged in silence. Silence broken by birds, sheep, the scream of the wind. The wind took John's hat. There was nothing he could do about it. Anna looked back, and giggled. He sighed. He had been fond of that hat. Crossing the stiles was challenging, between the bag, his cane, his leg, and the encroaching darkness. He managed. Anna flitted over them as if they weren't even there. Freedom suited her. Color was returning to her face.

"See that house?" She gestured to a ruined cottage with a tree coming out the roof. John nodded. "That's Wuthering Heights." She waited, and grinned. "Or so they say."

"Wuthering Heights was much larger than that. Though the location certainly is atmospheric." Romantic as well. "Are you a fan?"

"Are you?"

"Not especially, no. I wouldn't mind if it were simply a difficult book, but the characters have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I cannot bring myself to care what happens to them." The snow finally started. "It isn't about love, or struggle, or even really man's inhumanity to man. It is about obsession, and destruction." John hoped Stanbury was just over the next hill. He needed to sit. "If anything, it is a hymn to death."

Anna was moving again. "Would it affect your opinion of me if I confessed to liking it, once?" John watched as she nimbly crossed a ditch. "I think it has something to do with knowing the setting. The moors really are a character, and sometimes, when I'm out here, I feel like I can understand it."

John hesitated. "One of the things that disturbs me most is how clearly I understand it."

The wind picked up with the snow. John couldn't see much, but he trusted Anna knew where they were going. If he fell, he hoped she would leave him and go on. She needed to be safe and warm, and he couldn't hold her back.

"I wasn't afraid, you know." She was waiting again. "He took all my money after he spent his at the pub. I didn't realize it was gone until I was packing to leave a few days ago." John heard a lone sheep in the distance. "He said I wasn't going back, I was going to stay and do my duty." John's heart skipped a beat. He was afraid of what she was going to say next. "I didn't say anything." He was relieved. "I waited."

"I'm glad you did."

"I didn't know you'd written until today." Her voice was wavering again. "I knew Edward was…well…like this, but I didn't think he'd steal my letters."

"When I saw the letter I sent you from London hadn't been opened, I sent a new one. It didn't occur to me not to. When you didn't answer, and when you didn't return on time, Mrs. Hughes and I knew something was wrong."

Anna smiled. "I didn't expect you to rescue me."

"Think nothing of it." John smiled. "It has been a pleasure."

They were moving again. Anna was setting a brisk pace. John didn't mind, but he was nervous. "I take it things didn't go well with Vera?"

John nearly tripped. "No, not especially." Ice was forming on the rocks. "Would you mind terribly if we delayed discussing Vera for now? At least until Stanbury? I'm not sure I can manage to both navigate and talk coherently about that at the same time." John's ears were starting to burn from the wind.

"I can wait." She was climbing a small stone stair over a stile. It was exactly the sort of structure John didn't want to navigate in the dark, with ice forming, and nothing to hold to for balance. He'd have to pass the bag to Anna. The other stiles had been lower, and ice-free. "In fact, I-ah!"

Anna disappeared. John heard a thud, and a groan. He hurried. He could barely see. His heart was skipping. Even a short fall could be dangerous, given stones and ice and sheep shit.

"Anna?" He heard rustling. "Are you hurt?" It wasn't snowing, it was icing.

"Bloody steps!" That didn't answer his question. He leaned over the wall. Anna was crumpled at the bottom of the three steps. She whimpered as she tried to right herself. "I…ahhh!…I think my ankle's gone wrong." Her voice was shaking.

John gave no thought to how his body would punish him as he hurried to the stile, sat on it, and swung his legs across. He was afraid, given the conditions, he could fall as well as he tried to help her. He had to help her. He held his cane to her.

"See if you can pull yourself up with this." Anna gasped. "Don't try to stand. Just pull up a little, so you're off the ground, and then I'll get you on to a step and we'll see." She smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, I can't lift you off the ground and carry you to safety, much as I would like to."

"I know." Haltingly she hoisted herself to the lowest step using John's cane. He put his arm around her waist and lifted her to the top of the wall. Her feet dangled. John perched next to her. His touched the ground. He put his arm around her. She was shaking.

"Let's just sit for a bit. It's been too long since we've had a proper dark evening to ourselves." They needed to contemplate how they were going to proceed. Anna leaned against him. She was shivering. "But we'll need to try to move before we get too cold." John felt her nod into his shoulder. Cold and wet as it was, piercing as the wind was, John felt peaceful.

"I'm ready." Anna was pulling away from him.

John stood, and took her hands. "See if you can put weight on your foot." He didn't let go. She winced. They had to keep moving.

"It hurts, but we have to keep moving." Her eyes were enormous. "I'm so cold." Her voice was breaking.

"Let's see how we do." Anna took the bag against her good side, and gave John her hand. He hoped it wasn't much farther. His own leg was making its presence very known. "This isn't so bad." Their steps were halting. It would take hours.

"We're almost there." Warmth, a bed, perhaps even a bath, food, a bed with Anna in it. "I think."

John sighed. Anna was keeping a steady pace. He tried to speed them up. Her hand felt so fragile in his, and her gloves seemed thin. He turned his gaze from the path to her. His cane hit a small ditch, and he lost his balance. He regained it quickly, but Anna didn't. Even as she clung to John's hand, she kept falling forward. John tried to pull her back up, but he couldn't manage to do it and not join her on the ground. John's weight did manage to prevent her from hitting the ground, but her legs buckled as she dangled from his hand.

"John! How could you!" She was sobbing.

"I'm sorry. I turned to see if you were alright, and missed the path." Why were they not there yet?

"I was fine! You didn't need to check. You always do that! You always check and worry, when if something were wrong I'd tell you." The ice turned back to snow. John's ears were burning. "Why did you even come here?" She was trying to pull her hand from his.

John didn't let go of her hand. The wind had died. He needed a drink. A large one. He came because he was concerned. Because he loved her. He could barely feel his fingers. Because he missed her. He could barely feel his toes. Because he knew her brother to be a violent drunk who would try to hurt her, manipulate her, and steal from her. Because their time together had been so sparse of late he relished any opportunity. He was wet. He mustn't lose his temper. Because it was his duty.

"Why did you?" He extended his cane towards her for leverage while he pulled her up by her elbow.

Anna looked ashamed. "Because….because I thought it was my duty." She blinked rapidly. Her voice was quiet. "And don't say you wouldn't have done the same thing, because you would have."

John smiled into the sky. She had a point. "How bad is it now?"

Anna tried to take a step as John held her elbow. She winced. "Worse." She was sobbing again. She turned in his arms, burying her face into his neck. "I'm sorry. I just…and Edward…and he said…and Vera…and the children…." She took a deep breath. "I didn't know you'd written. I almost wish you hadn't."

John sighed. "I know." He pressed her against him as tight as he could. "We need to find a way to get there, otherwise they'll find us in the spring, like lovers in a tawdry novel." She looked up at him, and smiled. "Or a comedy gone horribly wrong." She smiled through her tears. "I have an idea. Let's see how it works."

Anna wrapped her right arm around John's waist and leaned into him. He leaned on his cane, and by using their good legs and bad legs together, they made progress. It was slow, and difficult, and they didn't speak for concentration, and Anna's bag was beating against her leg, but they reached Stanbury. John was almost giddy when he saw the lights of the little inn. No one else was on the streets. He could barely see, but it seemed to be a slightly larger, less depressing village than Haworth.

The heat from the reception area was overwhelming. John was relieved there was no one about but the innkeeper. Her eyes grew as she looked over them. John hatless and wind burned; Anna filthy and clinging to him, both limping and soaked. John smiled and said it was a very long story, but did she have any rooms? The woman looked from John to Anna and back to John. He was sure she was trying to decide what sort of criminals they were. He suspected the dim light hid the worst of it. Anna smiled, faintly, and the woman said indeed, she had one double room left. John felt like a weight had been lifted. Anna slumped against him in relieved laughter. The innkeeper smiled. She'd send up a maid to build up the fire. There was no proper bathroom, but she'd send up the tub and plenty of towels. John signed the register Mr and Mrs John Bates, and hoped Anna didn't take off her gloves. And they had a restaurant, more of a pub really, but weary as they looked, she was sure they wouldn't want to come back down and she'd just send a up a tray. John thought he hadn't been happier since that night Anna had told him she still loved him. Was there a telephone he might use?

They struggled up the stairs to their small, dimly lit room, followed by a parade of maids with trays. Anna collapsed into a chair as a maid made up the fire. She was shivering. John caught her eye, and winked. Servants tended to by servants. Bedwarmers were tucked into the bed. A pile of fluffy towels. A tray of food. Ale. John asked for some tea. He hung his overcoat. He really wasn't all that wet. A bucket of wood. A large man with a large tub, immediately in front of the fire. It would take a while for the bathwater, they were told. They began to eat, perched in armchairs with trays, Anna still in her coat and hat and gloves. She wasn't able to maintain hold of her spoon, swollen as her hands were with cold. John peeled off her gloves, slowly massaging warmth into her hands. He shivered at the first touch. They were swollen, and red, and icy. Her gloves were useless. She would need new ones. He held her hands between his while the maids finished bringing in the bathwater. The maids kept looking at them out the corners of their eyes. John did not want them to see that Anna wasn't wearing a ring. They would not be a topic of conversation any more than they already were. It didn't matter to Anna, but he would not have her talked about. These girls, this village, would look for anything amiss.

Anna ate fast, faster than John had ever seen. She was like an animal, protecting her food. They were alone, blissfully alone, and warming.

"I won't take it from you, I promise." She looked up, then at her plate. It was roasted beef with potatoes and carrots and an apple pudding.

"Oh…I've been eating my own cooking for so long, and I'm really not much of a cook. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. But I think you should slow down. I'm sure she'll send up more if we ask." It was plain, but quite good, and warming. John had hope. He gave Anna his pudding.

"Aren't you going to drink your ale?" It would do her good, and John hated for it to go to waste.

"Oh." Anna looked at it, and blinked. "No." She kept eating.

"Whyever not?" She had had wine and ale with John before. It couldn't be anxiety about his problem.

"Well…I'm afraid that….that I won't be able to stop." She was looking at her hands.

John smiled as his heart sank. "I don't think that will happen." She looked up, her eyes large again. "I think, given what's happened, that if you drink the ale the only thing that will happen is that you will feel warm and sleepy." He looked into the fire, and back at Anna. "I understand your concern about being unable to stop, but believe me when I say you do not have the same tendencies as your brother, and as me."

"You're nothing like him." She wiped her mouth.

John smiled. "In most ways, no, thank God." He put his tray aside. "Now, drink. I need to telephone Mr. Carson."

Anna took a large sip, and sighed. "He'll be worried. But you won't tell him about Edward?" She looked embarrassed.

John suspected he knew. Mrs. Hughes certainly had an idea. "I only plan to tell him we've had a spot of bother, but we're safe, and that he might want to send Mr. Branson to the station tomorrow afternoon if the family doesn't require him." He pulled himself to his feet, using the arms of the chair and his cane. His leg had gone completely stiff. He kissed Anna's head. Of all people, Anna knew he never said more than he needed. "Drink. I'll be right back."

John got down the narrow dark stair by leaning heavily on the banister. The telephone was in a small room between the entrance and the pub, which was full and noisy. Mr. Carson tried to not sound relieved, but John suspected the man was on the verge of sending the police to search for them. When he returned to the room, Anna was standing on one foot, facing the fire, trying to unbutton her blouse. John locked the door.

She turned. "I can't quite get it. My fingers are still too thick." John noticed both glasses were empty.

"Let me help. We need to get you in that tub while the water is still warm." He made his way to Anna, and began to work open the buttons. "These were not made for men's fingers." He was whispering. "I have it so easy with Lord Grantham." Anna giggled. He peeled off her blouse, exposing her white shoulders, arms, and underthings. "Is there a proper order to this? What comes next?"

Anna giggled. "It doesn't matter, really. Though it would with a real lady." John started on the corset. "This is something I've dreamt of for so long now, and I'm too tired to take advantage of it."

John pulled her to him, and kissed her. She tasted of apple and potato and a strong ale. "Good." He rested his forehead on hers. "I wouldn't want to have to pretend to fight you off." They laughed.

John moved to her skirt, and then had her sit with her feet in his lap for her shoes and stockings and underthings. He bent her feet back and forth after removing her shoes. Her right ankle was enormously swollen, and bruised. The stockings and drawers, he peeled slowly down her legs. Her knees were bruised. Anna leaned back in the chair and sighed. She had to stand for the petticoat and corset. She was very unsteady, between the injury and the ale and the exhaustion. John smiled as he unhooked her corset. Anna sighed as John ran his hands down her sides as her body relaxed. She was so small, so pale, so perfect. John unfastened her petticoat let it pool at her feet. He removed her camisole, and saw, as she raised her arms, that her left arm was bruised. The bruises were beginning to fade, and resembled fingers.

"Anna? How did this happen?" Not that he needed to ask.

"Oh." She tilted her head to look. "I was trying to leave once before, and Edward grabbed me." John shut his eyes. He wished he had kicked him harder. With intent. John didn't respond. He helped Anna into the tub. She leaned her head against the edge and sighed. "I never asked after your mother."

John put wood on the fire. "She's stubborn and refuses to admit she might need help." He began picking up Anna's clothes. "She'd like to see you."

"Sounds familiar." John looked over his shoulder and smiled.

John hung Anna's wet things around the room. Luckily she had fresh clothes. He turned down the covers and removed the warming pans from the bed. When he turned back to Anna, she was asleep. He hated to wake her, but he didn't trust himself to lift her from the tub and carry her to bed. He stroked her shoulder. She moved. John whispered, and encouraged her to sit up. He coaxed her up, and helped her to step out of the tub without hurting her ankle further. She slumped against him as John began to rub her dry with the towel. Her nightgown was filthy from the afternoon's events. John wrapped her in a dry towel, and led her to bed. She winced as she limped. He sat behind her on the bed, and swiftly plaited her hair. John wondered if she had her lavender cream. She was asleep as he worked. Her hair needed to be washed, but that wasn't an option. He laid her down and covered her. She was shivering.

John quickly undressed. He contemplated a turn in the tub, but the water had gone tepid, and as much as his leg was shaking he wouldn't be able to get in and out. He washed from the bucket by the fire. It was refreshing. He was looking forward to a proper long soak when they returned to Downton. He hadn't brought a book, and he didn't think he could take many more of those insipid poems. Anna had clean clothes. John had nothing. He would be hatless and unshaven. Even if he had a book, the light would disturb Anna. Better to just get into bed. Mr. Carson would be shocked.

John slid into bed. Never had a bed felt so warm. He didn't think he'd sleep, but he longed to stretch his back, his leg, and close his eyes. He never slept with the window shut, and the room was overly warm. Anna was shivering. She rolled towards him, resting with her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. It was like his dream, but different. Her feet brushed his leg. They were icy. John never slept well covered, but for Anna he burrowed into the covers. She needed his warmth. Her breathing was deep and slow, her mouth slightly open, with the faintest of snores. Laughter and slamming doors downstairs. His eyes were heavy. She needed him. The wind was screaming. A dog. Anna had been hurt. She was naked in his arms. He hadn't been able to keep her safe. He wished someone would bring that dog in. He would never let her go. He saw lights swirling with his eyes closed. The morning would bring so much, if they didn't sleep it away. The darkness was heavy. It was better than his dream.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

John watched as Anna sewed. The half-made doll was now a nearly complete doll. She was very simple, and charming, John thought. John had suggested they purchase Anna's niece a doll from the toyshop in Ripon, but he had not been thinking properly when he made that suggestion, as he had learned from a quick glare from Anna.

It was late, but Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were still in the kitchen. An old friend of Lord Grantham's, Colonel Oswald, had been for dinner. John remembered him as one of the most pompous, most effete men in all of Africa. When he was helping Lord Grantham to prepare for dinner, John noticed how nervous he was. He had confessed to John that he was hoping Colonel Oswald would have something for him to do with the war. He so wanted to be useful. Daisy dropped something. When John returned to Lord Grantham's dressing room after dinner, he found him drunk, loud, and eager. Apparently the dinner had gone well. John had smiled and agreed and re-fought the African campaign with him for at least a quarter of an hour. He didn't think anything would come of it. He picked up his copy of _Middlemarch_.

"We could talk, if you like." Anna looked tired.

"I don't want to distract you." It had been just over a month since John had collected Anna from her brother's. "And I like just sitting here with you." But for Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, it was John's dream of domesticity. He turned to make certain no one was about, and kissed Anna's cheek. She grinned, but didn't look up from her work.

"I thought…I thought I might try to take the doll to Hetty on my half-day." Of Anna's nieces and nephews, Hetty had wound up the farthest from her siblings and the closest to Anna. She was with an older couple, childless, near Ripon. John wasn't sure how she had managed to be separated from her family, but he thought it for the best. They had written to Anna. She knew where all her nieces and nephews were living, but she only took an interest in Hetty. Mr. and Mrs. McGibbon cherished her almost as much as Anna did. John suspected they were about his age. The doll had a simple stitched face, and yarn hair. Anna was now stitching a small heart onto her body. The doll was a her, never an it, John had learned. He smiled. Anna adored this child.

"I think you should." She smiled again. "I might even join you." She ran her foot against his leg. She had been quiet lately. Mrs. Hughes had insisted she spend a few days off her feet when they returned, and her ankle was much better. Anna had spoken very little about what had happened before he arrived at her brother's farm; the storm from that had passed quickly, almost as quickly as their train ride home the following day. The doll, however, stayed in her hand and daily became more complete. Daisy was laughing.

Anna maintained that she did not like children. John accepted that, but observed that while it was possible, perhaps even reasonable, to dislike children in general it might also be possible to care for one or two in particular. Anna had shrugged her shawl around her, and drawn herself tighter in John's arms.

Anna finished the heart. She put down the doll, and started on a small dress. Mrs. Patmore was whistling. John wondered if Hetty would remember her Aunt Anna, when all the adults in her short life had left her. If she did fade from the girl's memory, John believed Anna would be philosophical. As he picked up his book, his eyes fell on the curve of her breast. Perhaps, one day, she'd make a small dress for a doll for a small girl of their own.

John jumped when Mrs. Patmore entered, Daisy behind her with a tray. He bent to retrieve his book. Anna was giggling. He brushed her ankle, accidentally. Daisy looked confused. She set down the tray, said goodnight, and disappeared. Mrs. Patmore looked as if she might join them. John hoped not. He and Anna had precious little time together as it was; he did not welcome intrusions. She looked from Anna to John. Anna looked up over her sewing and smiled. John swallowed, and smiled. She'd take it as an invitation to stay. She didn't. He noticed there were only two cups on the tray. She had never brought them tea before. She had extra biscuits, and thought, as they were sitting up, they might enjoy them with some tea. She was retiring. As she turned, she winked, and told them not to stay up too late. John's heart lifted.

"Alone at last." Anna sighed as she said it. "Fancy a biscuit?"

"Thank you, no." He poured the tea. "I thought they'd never leave. Did they take longer than usual?"

Anna went back to the dress. "I'm not sure. We've grown so accustomed to being alone." There was no discernable emotion to her voice, it was a fact and stated as such, yet as she said it, John felt such a longing.

His hand grazed hers, and he went back to his book. This was John's dream. A fire, a cold wet evening, Anna with her work, he with his book, tea, no particular conversation, just quiet, and solitude.

"Did you hear them, not discussing William?" She rethreaded her needle.

"I confess I wasn't actually listening." He turned a page. "So, what's the latest?"

"Well, he went home on his half-day, and asked his father again about enlisting." John loved how Anna's wrists flexed as she worked. "Of course he said no, and then he told Daisy, and asked what she thought, and Daisy of course got nervous about it." Her wrists were so slender, and led to her hands, which quite possibly were John's favorite part of Anna's body.

"Of course." John took a biscuit after all. Oat and honey, a pleasant surprise.

"Mrs. Patmore heard everything, and told Daisy earlier that William's such a nice boy, that it would be a shame to not even hear what he had to say." Anna reached for her scissors. Her back hurt. John could tell. "Daisy's been quiet ever since."

John shook his head. "Children…."

Anna poured more tea and went back to her work. John returned to Middlemarch. Engaging was it was, he had the hardest time remembering who all the characters were. It was, however, satisfying.

Anna was edging the doll's dress with a bit of lace. John felt her feet in his lap. He looked at her over the top of the book. She barely looked up from her work.

"I take it they hurt?" He didn't mind being used as an ottoman.

"Just tired." She flexed her ankles and sighed. "The one is swollen again." She hadn't complained much about it. Actually, she hadn't mentioned it. John's attempts to get her to rest or sit or elevate it were rebuffed, sometimes gently. It was maddening. He had a feeling it was not unlike some of her previous dealings with him. Anna had lost her patience with him once, demanding that he stop fussing. She knew good and well when she needed to sit. John didn't need to be told twice, but he still watched for any sign of pain.

"Well, let's see what we can do." John marked his page, and eased off Anna's shoes. She smiled, and sighed again, and kept sewing. "Is that lace from Lady Sybil's old pinafore?"

"Yes. This is the last of it." Apparently it had been part of the scrap pile since Lady Sybil had outgrown it ten years earlier. "I thought it would make the dress nice."

"She deserves a nice dress." The doll, the child. Anna settled back into her chair as John cupped her foot in his hands, rotating it gently. It was swollen, and sweaty. She closed her eyes and smiled as he flexed it. Anna's feet were the one part of her that was not delicate. Her feet were wide, calloused, and surprisingly large. He reached up her leg to unfasten her garters and slip off her stockings. She raised an eyebrow over her work. He dare not reach farther. Unbidden, as usually was the case with her, Vera came to mind. John preferred not to compare them if he could help it. Anna groaned as he spread her toes with his fingers. She had walked for miles in horrible conditions across a harsh landscape on an injured foot, with little assistance, and she had not complained. She had thought only of their goal, and how it could have been worse. The idea of Vera even crossing the street on a turned ankle was laughable.

"If it isn't too wet tomorrow, I thought we might go for a walk in the woods." Anna began sewing again.

"I'd like that. The snowdrops should be up." It had been a particularly dreary winter. John welcomed this hint of spring. "Will you have time?"

"Yes." She glanced up and smiled. John felt warm, and a bit dizzy. Her smile never failed to enchant. The fire needed attention, but he would have to remove Anna's feet from his lap to tend it, and that was not acceptable.

Anna's feet were slowly turning from fleshy white to pink his hands. He was careful around her ankle. It was quite swollen. Earlier in the week he had used too much pressure and she had yelped and pulled away. A walk through the woods, slow, leisurely, looking for snowdrops. It would be so different from their last walk together. Her toes were cold, but warming.

Anna shifted so that her feet dug slightly into John's crotch. John tried to catch her eye, but she was determined not to let him. The doll was nearly complete. Waking to find Anna curled against him had been simply the most perfect moment of his life. He reached just slightly up her leg. She didn't react. That night, John had assumed he wouldn't sleep. Sleep was such a fleeting state for him in the best of conditions; he was certain that in a strange bed in a room that was far too warm, with someone else, even Anna, in the bed, he would remain awake all night, no matter how exhausted. He should really move her feet. The way she was kneading at him things would shortly become unbearable. He had settled into bed in his usual position on his back with bad leg bent, and then reached his arm around Anna, who tucked into his side, muffling in her sleep. She was warm and solid and smelled only of herself. He really needed to move her feet. He had fallen asleep almost immediately. She ran one toe down the front of his trousers and settled her foot just between his thighs as she poured more tea.

"Anna."

She looked up, wide-eyed, from the tiny dress. "Yes? Why did you stop? It felt so nice." The minx. It did indeed feel nice. He smiled, and picked up her right foot.

"Do you think I should talk to William again?" The trouble was there was no safe way to retaliate on her now. Once the weather improved, it would be her turn. Waking the next morning had been slow. John had awakened before Anna, and was startled at first to have slept, and then to realize he wasn't in his bed. As he remembered what had happened, he felt Anna stir slightly next to him. She had rolled so that her back was against his side, her hands balled under chin, her braid messy from John's lack of practice. John had felt more at peace than he could remember ever feeling. He had shifted to his side, and curled around Anna, placing his lips to the top of her head. He didn't want her to wake, but he needed to feel more of her. He might never have another chance to share a bed with her. She had nestled against him. He needed to make the most of it.

"If you think it would help." She shifted. "I doubt he'll listen." John knew he wouldn't. It felt like he had watched Anna sleep for hours. He had dozed off again himself, to find she had turned towards him. Waking up together, slowly, leisurely, had been the most natural thing, just as natural as falling asleep had been. John realized now, watching her sew, that he had never experience that sort of intimacy with Vera. Sharing a bed and sleeping together were entirely different. Quiet, trusting intimacy. He had known it, but hadn't realized it. Anna dropped a stitch. She was getting tired. When he was married to Vera…no when he was living with Vera, John had known there was something missing, but he hadn't wanted to think about it. John and Vera would fall into bed, late in the evening, and take their alcohol-fueled passion out on each other, often with a hint of violence. Afterwards, they would roll to their respective sides of the bed, comatose until morning, when awakening or recovering was a distinctly individual activity. He and Anna were intimate in ways he never imagined with Vera. Occasionally John had tried to sleep near Vera, perhaps put an arm around her, but he was always pushed away. Anna had been languid in her waking and almost childlike in her drowsy joy that they were together. John smiled. Anna was, however, no innocent, as she had proven soon after they woke.

"There." Anna placed the doll on the table. "She's done." Her eyes were puffy. This was the life he wanted. Anna stretched. Her eyes closed, her back arched, her chest lifted. A life in which these ordinary evenings, this dull domesticity, was usual. He had never had it; he had never considered it as an option; now it was the stuff of his dreams. Anna twisted her back from side to side. "Do you still want to add a picture book?"

"Of course. If you'll help me pick it out." He wasn't sure what small girls liked. Anna smoothed her hand over the doll, and nodded. He picked up the doll. "She's very pretty." Anna blinked, and tilted her neck from side to side. The way it cracked made John's ache.

"Thank you." She took the doll back from him. "Let's try to go next week. We'll stop in Ripon on the way and get the book and a stick of candy." She yawned. The fire had gone dark. She shivered, in the way that comes more of exhaustion than cold.

"We need to head to bed." Neither moved. "Would you like me to crack your back?" John could tell it hurt. It was so satisfying for them both. Anna would brace herself against him, he would press at just the right place on her spine. Anna would collapse against his chest, breathless and sighing, as her body re-aligned.

Her eyes widened. "That would be heavenly." John smiled, and helped her to stand. It wasn't as if was some unusual treat. Anna grinned as she braced herself against John.

"Hmmm….I've never tried it before with your corset on." He ran his hands along her spine, seeking the pressure point.

"I could take it off." All hint of seduction was gone from her voice.

John smiled, and pulled her closer. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea." He kissed the top of her head. "Suppose Daisy wanders back down?" Anna groaned. "I'll figure something out." He worked his hands over her spine. He could feel the knot just beneath the top of her corset. He shifted so his weight was between both legs. Once he hadn't been ready and when Anna melted against him, he had lost his balance and fallen. He thought he could manage. "Ready?" Anna nodded. Her eyes were closed. John pressed just below the knot. As he slowly pressed harder he felt an almost audible snap and Anna gasped, falling against him. His face was buried in her soft hair. She smelled of wood smoke and roses. To make her feel so good was such a delight. John was in heaven.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

John was struggling with the letter. He knew he shouldn't hurry. Haste would show. Anna had told him that if Vera wouldn't cooperate, it would be alright. He wanted it gone with the morning post. Anna had said that they had far more than she had ever thought possible, and he knew they had more than he had ever had with Vera. That was a week ago, before they left for London. John wasn't entirely sure he believed Anna, and he had long since decided they both deserved a proper life together.

It was starting to snow. Usually late spring snow was depressing, crushing the flowers and disappearing quickly into mud, but John didn't mind as much as he would have previously. He had to rid himself of Vera. Anna had often repeated her words, her suggestion, of just loving and being loved in return. She maintained that while it was sometimes frustrating, they needed to be thankful for what they had. John's window at Grantham House didn't show much other than sky and the neighboring roofs. He would rid himself of Vera. His life had aspects now that never would have been possible with Vera. He was about half-way through the letter. His life had things Vera could never understand. He was stuck at the point where he told her that their marriage had been over for years. She knew it was over; she had ended it. He rubbed his hand through his clean hair. So long as they remained married on paper she was able to extort a hold over his life.

The snow was falling heavily now. He had awakened earlier than usual, and knew if he was going to write Vera while they were in town, this was his best chance. John was a fitful sleeper at best, and the strange room and bed and schedule made sleep even more elusive. The flakes were caught in the streetlamps. Sentimental as it was, John had never felt as refreshed as he had felt when he woke with Anna that ever more distant morning. There had been only rest, only sharing of warmth, no struggle for dominance, no demand for satisfaction. It was sentimental, but in the quiet of the still hours, John didn't mind. He had found peace in protecting the one person he valued above all. A week after Anna had finished the doll, John and Anna took their half-day to deliver her to Hetty. John was thankful for what they had, but he wanted, he needed, so much more.

They had been in London for two weeks, and John wasn't certain how much longer their stay would be. A summons had arrived from the War Office, and Lord Grantham was certain it was to inform him he would be returning to active duty. John had held his tongue. They may not be old men, but they were too old for this war. At first just the two of them were going, and staying at the club, but Lady Grantham had decided she and the girls would benefit from a change of scenery. London in the off-season was better than a frozen Yorkshire. He tapped his pen on the table. The business with the War Office hadn't amounted to anything. He wished they'd stop toying with Lord Grantham.

John and Anna had arrived at the McGibbons' in the early afternoon. The weather had been fairly mild, and they had walked to the McGibbons' farm from Ripon in relative silence. John could feel Anna's tension. He had wanted to tell her that Hetty would remember, would still love her, tell her whatever it was that was worrying her would be alright. He hadn't. He didn't know enough about small children to be confident. As they rounded the corner into the farm lane, a very small girl with very blond hair came running at them. That was an aspect of children that had always made John nervous: their tendency to run without discretion. She ignored him, throwing herself at Anna. Anna had introduced Hetty to her friend Mister Bates, and Hetty had grown shy, burying her face in Anna's neck and sucking her fingers. John hadn't expected much better. Anna had whispered to her as they walked to the house, and she warmed up, especially as they passed the barn. Her words were fast and imprecise, and John had had to work to make out what the girl was saying, but Anna seemed to understand. They had stopped to see the animals in the barn. She seemed to glow. The doll was produced after they had reached the house. Hetty's eyes were like saucers when she saw her, deep blue saucers. She clutched her for the rest of their visit, even while having her tea and cake, while sitting on Anna's lap. Mr. McGibbon had chuckled, and promised to read them both a story from Hetty's new book at bedtime. The parlor had a sizeable amount of picture books and toys. He had smiled at Anna over Hetty's head, and saw her relax.

John was strangely cold. His bed was warm, but he hadn't been able to get comfortable. Anna had told him that she was happy, that while she did want him for her own, she had far more joy than she had ever expected in her life. She would accept it for what it was. John couldn't. In the early days it was possible, but no longer. He was right about the McGibbons: they were about his age. They had moved to Yorkshire from Lanarkshire. Mr. McGibbon played fiddle, and their farm was one of the more prosperous in greater Ripon. No one had asked about John's presence there with Anna. John was impressed by how Anna managed to drink her tea with the girl wrapped around her neck. It seemed the most natural thing to her. Hetty had said nothing to John the entire visit, until it was nearly time to leave. She had loosened her grip on Anna long enough to reach into the pocket of her pinafore, and handed him a ribbon, before re-attaching herself to Anna's neck and resuming sucking her fingers, starring at him over Anna's shoulder. John had thanked her, and placed it carefully in his wallet. Mrs. McGibbon had told him it was her favorite. John remembered being struck by how like Anna Hetty was. So small, so pale, so sensitive and kind.

John had it now, marking his place in _The Beasts of Tarzan_. He was a little embarrassed to be seen with Burroughs in hand, but it was so readable. The ribbon was pale purple, and frayed at the ends. He touched the bit sticking out from the book. It was delicate, and silky. He had felt it in his pocket as he and Anna walked back to Ripon. They had delayed leaving as long as possible, and John knew it was going to be difficult for Anna. She had hugged Hetty and promised to come again. The girl was half asleep by then, and John had hoped she'd stay that way, but when she and her doll were passed to Mrs. McGibbon she woke up and her large eyes overflowed as she saw Anna slipping into her coat. John had thought it would have been less disturbing if Hetty had some sort of sound while she cried, not these mournful silent tears and the look of heartbreak. Anna had gone to her, had tried to embrace her, but the child had turned her back and clung to her foster mother, who both shushed Hetty and reassured Anna that with such a wee lassie, so young, who had been through so much…well…it would be best if she and Mr. Bates just left. Hetty would be alright. They loved her so. They had left.

Halfway to Ripon John had realized the true purpose of his presence that afternoon. Anna hadn't said anything after they left the house.

"I am glad she's with people who love her." They would need to hurry to make the bus back to Downton. Anna didn't respond. She was clutching her handbag tightly. John looked closely. She was blinking fast.

"Anna." He stopped walking. "There was no other choice." John hadn't been sure what to expect, but he was glad he had joined her. The girl's soundless tears had been heartbreaking.

Anna sniffed. "I know. I just…." She collapsed against him. "I didn't…and she…" She took a breath. "Everyone has left her. Even me. That's what she'll remember. Being left."

John took Anna into his arms. She shook as she tried to suppress her tears. "She's very young. She'll remember that you loved her, and that you made her a doll and that you came to see her." Anna sniffed into his coat. It was getting dark. "She'll thank you for giving her the best chance at love and happiness she was likely to have."

"I know." Anna pulled away. "I just…I just didn't think it would be so hard." Neither had John. As he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket for Anna, the ribbon came with it. He had tucked it away, and now, as he saw it sticking from the pages of his book, he realized he too had fallen in love with Hetty. She had a charm, an innocence, that John wanted to protect and indulge.

Such an understanding was beyond Vera. Vera was only capable of self-gratification, and her understanding was solely self-serving. John began to write again. He had never considered their lack of children as anything other than a blessing, and he still did, considering their relation. Luckily no one would suffer during the legal proceedings. He was willing to take the blame if Vera wished to divorce him on some sort of fertility basis, but he knew it was her. Considering all the men she'd been with in the last twenty years, and never a hint of a problem, of a potentially difficult situation, it had to be her. John stopped writing. He wondered what he would have had done if Vera had had another man's child. He wanted to think he wouldn't have accepted it, but if her lover had abandoned her, as they all did, he knew he would have. Vera, in all likelihood, knew he would as well.

His pen wasn't working quite right. John was particular about his writing implements. He tapped it on the table. Ink splurted out, staining his dressing gown. He swore. This letter would never be finished. He only wore the blasted thing on these trips to London or going to and from the facilities in the night. Something about London made him feel just the sweater and his undershorts weren't quite right. He took it off, and found his pitcher had no water. Damn Vera. Now he would have to walk down the cold hall in just his undershirt to bathroom. He threw it on the floor. Of course, he'd have to do that in the morning if he soaked it all night in cold water. He pulled on his emergency pajama pants and slippers and trudged down the hall. He'd never manage a pitcher of water and his cane, so the robe went with him. Stains required prompt attention.

William's light was on. John had tried to talk to him again about war, but it hadn't gone well. William had snapped at him that he already had a father, he didn't need another and had left John standing in the courtyard. John hadn't meant to come across that way, he had meant to simply have a conversation about war. Mrs. Hughes had apparently heard their exchange, and she had smiled at John, sadly. Nothing was ever simple. Indeed not. The servants' bathroom was a dank place. He turned on the cold tap and filled the sink.

Anna was thoughtful on the ride back to Downton. The bus hadn't been crowded, and John had been relieved in case Anna had another outburst. He knew she wouldn't like people staring if she did. She sat quietly for a mile or so, fiddling with her handbag. John watched out the window as they left Ripon. "I don't know what it is about Hetty." John turned to her. "I've never had much use for children. They always seem to be dirty and underfoot, and they make a mess and break things and are noisy." Anna turned to look out the window. "I suppose Hetty isn't that different from other children, but…"

"I suspect, given proper nurturing and attention, Hetty will soon be on her way to being a noisy, dirty, unpredictable demon."

That got a smile from Anna. "She barely spoke when I got there." She meant her brother's farm, not the McGibbon's. "Her mother, well, Molly was never much of a mother. She was always pregnant or drunk or looking after Andrew so the children were left to themselves." Sheep were in the road. They would be late. "I think I was the first person to say more to the child than get out of the way. And she was never in the way, she was always good." One of the sheep was baaing at the driver, who was sounding the horn. "She wanted to help me when I arrived. She followed me, and she climbed in my bed one night." The driver left the bus. "Andrew told me that she didn't need to be beaten as much as the others. I told him that no child required beating."

"Did he?..." John wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Not while I was there he didn't." John smiled. He slid his arm around her waist.

"Andrew was out most of the time, and the older children as well, so Hetty was my constant companion." John watched as Anna smiled out the window at the mess of sheep. "She found her tongue when left alone. And she remembered everything I told her." John tightened his hold on Anna. "She didn't care about fairy stories, but she wanted to know about animals." John smiled. "We practiced the animal sounds she knew. It wasn't as silly as it should have been, but I had to make up a sound for a rabbit. And my pig was rusty." Anna giggled. "I found things around the cottage she could help me with, and she did better than I had expected." John sighed. It hadn't taken Anna long at all to fall in love with the child. "I fixed her hair and her dress….she only had one…and showed her how to sit and sip her tea like a young lady. I'm not sure why. I knew she'd never have much, but it seemed….I don't know. I can't remember who showed me those things." She leaned her head on John's shoulder. "It certainly wasn't my mother." The sheep were parting. "It was an amazing thing. As I watched, Hetty turned into a small person. I was only being kind. I wasn't going to get attached to her. I've never cared for children, but now…"

The bus had started moving again at that point. John's dressing gown was now sopping wet. As he wrung it out he nearly flooded the bathroom. He swore.

"Mr. McGibbon reminded me of my father." Anna never talked about her father. "When we were small, he said he wanted to teach us both what we would need in life. Andrew learned about farming, and management, and he had extra lessons in math. Our parents hoped that he would be able to expand the farm." John saw her smile, ruefully, in the window. "Mother wouldn't make him finish his work, and would give him treats when she thought dad wasn't watching."

"Did he know?"

"I'm not sure. I was so young, and even though mother would try to start fights, dad insisted they not argue in front of me. I heard them sometimes at night though." Anna began to rummage in her handbag. "Dad taught me to read before I started school, and would take me out with him at night, wrapped up, to look at the moon and stars. Sometimes, when he went to town, he'd bring me something back." She removed a tin of peppermints from her bag and took two. John took one. "I heard them talking about that once." Talking was emphasized in a way to suggest it was fairly heated. "She said he was filling my head with nonsense. He said he was showing me possibilities."

"He saw possibilities." The were approaching the Downton village stop.

"Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if he hadn't died." John shifted in his seat. If her father hadn't died, Anna's life would have been so much easier. Even if she hadn't become a teacher, she would have married a respectable farmer. Or someone worse than her brother. If her father hadn't died, John never would have met Anna. "But packing me off into service was the best thing my mother ever did for me." Anna looked at John. Her eyes were so deep and so blue and so like Hetty's. John knew he was a selfish creature, and thanked heaven for Mr. Smith's death.

John threw a towel over the puddle on the bathroom floor. It was the best he could do: proper mopping of it would demand he get on his hands and knees and the puddle wasn't close enough to anything solid he could use as leverage. He could use his cane as a sort of mop. John was pleasantly surprised by how well it worked. He did hate to make work for the others, especially when it was due to his own clumsiness. He returned to his room.

The sky was lightening. The snow had turned to rain. Large, heavy slow-moving drops. John's leg ached just thinking about it. He groaned, and spread the wet robe on the clothes horse near the fire. The fire was nearly out. John poked it, and sat back down at the table. He just had time to finish the letter. In his hurry to prevent the ink stain from setting, John had left his pen uncapped on the letter to Vera. It was a sodden unreadable mess, and the ink had bled to the table. John swore. The paper was beginning to distingrate. He swore loudly. Damn Vera.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

His mother looked better than John expected. She seemed more like her usual self as well. John wasn't sure how much was an act. He had decided against checking in with Mrs. McGuinness, and his plan to have a girl stay with his mother had never materialized. It wouldn't have gone well. Since January, John had been relying on his mother's own reports on how she was doing, and he didn't trust her.

He looked around her sitting room. He did trust her. He trusted her to do exactly as she wanted. She and Anna were having, as his grandmother would have said, a wee blether across the tea table. John wasn't really listening, just observing how even though they had only met a few times, they seemed like old friends. The sun was hitting the side of Anna's face. Like family. He could leave and they wouldn't notice.

His mother smiled at him and patted his hand. Her Johnny. He reached for the teapot. She wanted to pour. She could barely life the teapot her hand was shaking so. John wasn't sure how she'd managed to prepare the scones and fruitcake with only one good hand. Anna smiled, and took the teapot and John's cup. John was surprised by how easily his mother surrendered. She sat back in her chair while Anna poured. Anna lips twitched at John across the table. He closed his eyes briefly before he was lost in Anna's.

John had to rewrite that letter tonight. It was so much more than marrying Anna now; it was leaving that old life that included Vera behind and starting fresh. John wasn't sure how long ago he had ceased to be complacently frustrated by his marital status, but now he felt a sense of urgency to rid himself of Vera at whatever price. He'd live in a cave, he'd beg, so long as he was free of Vera.

Anna would disagree. She would tell him that they had so much, that they were so very lucky, and that he'd be cold in a cave and hungry as a beggar. He smiled out the window. She was right. He'd never beg.

John looked out the window. It was as if it had never snowed. He had managed to doze a little when he returned to his room after rinsing his robe, and by the time he was up it was simply a bright, cool, wet day. He had smelled spring, finally, when walking to his mother's. He shifted. His leg was throbbing. The different bed, the different routine and house, the weather were all taking their toll. At one time, John would have felt old, but as he looked at Anna and his mother, he felt his life was beginning again.

He noticed a lull in the conversation. Would Anna be a dear and fetch something for her? John started to stand. He would…No, Johnnie would stay there and rest his bad leg. He was mortified. Anna stood. Of course, she would be happy to. She tilted her head and smiled at John. He mother didn't see. Anna knew his mother liked her. It was in the attic, in a trunk. John squinted at his plate. He wasn't sure what his mother wanted. Anna was repeating the directions. Of course there was an ulterior motive. It was a parcel of old white cotton, tied with a ribbon, in the bottom of a trunk. His mother would never say anything like that about his leg otherwise. Anna was sure she could find it. Her skirt flounced as she left.

John watched his mother watching Anna. Her smile, bright as ever, followed her out the door. John started to ask. She wouldn't let him. She poured more tea, one-handed. John hadn't thought she could do it. Now Johnny. Here it came. Her time wasn't long. No. She knew. She had known. Now, Johnny, he was never too old for a mother's advice. Clearly he and Anna were meant for each other. John looked down and squirmed. No need to look that way. It was clear to anyone. And not to worry. She remembered now that that parcel wasn't exactly where she thought. May take Anna a bit to locate it. Her mind wasn't what it once was. John's eyes narrowed. He had never before appreciated how devious his mother could be. Again he realized how thoroughly he had underestimated her.

Now, Johnny. She was all business. He would inherit everything, and there was more than he knew. John opened his mouth to say something, what he didn't know. No, Johnny, he didn't know everything about her finances, and she had been able to put some by over the years. Would have been for the girls' marriages, and the grandchildren. Use it. John started to say something. No, Johnny, use it to find Vera and divorce her. Hire a detective. Find her. Find something to use against her. He deserved Anna. He needed Anna. Life wasn't as long as it seemed. She looked at her wedding ring. John thought she would have twisted it had the flesh of the finger not swollen around it, making it immovable. Find something that couldn't be disproven.

John tried to tell her he'd been looking. She wouldn't let him. She knew she'd been visiting next door. She'd seen her. John was falling behind the conversation. Divorce. His mother. She was Catholic. Finally he got it out. He'd been looking but Vera was…well…she was being Vera. His mother's lips tensed. And he was letting her. She was leading him along and he was letting her. What was he supposed to do? Divorce. He hadn't wanted to tell his mother until it was a certainty. There was nothing so cruel as false hope. John and the tea set jumped as her good hand slammed the table. Dammit Johnny. Fight her.

Spittle was gathering at the corner of his mother's mouth. John didn't like it. She looked so old, so sick. He looked away. The sun was beating in the window. She had put a few daffodils in a vase on the table. He looked back, and handed her his handkerchief. Her breathing was settling. Johnny. Why did everything have to be so hard. They smiled. She said it as a statement. She didn't know the procedure really, but she knew money would make it possible. It always did. Promise he'd use it. Promise Johnny. He did. And if he couldn't find Vera, take Anna and get out of England. America. Everyone was going to America. He'd done so well making himself over. John looked towards the stairs. He thought he heard Anna. But he wasn't finished yet.

John felt sad. Life was so short. Now his mother was looking out the window. But so long as well. And happiness. Well. She looked at him again. When the time came he'd find everything he needed in the top drawer of the bureau in her bedroom. She caught John's eye. For all the white hair, the wrinkles, the stout and dumpy body under the print dress, John could see the light of the young woman she had been. Yes, she was certain it was there. The corner of her mouth twitched. Her eyes were young. The floor creaked. Anna was coming. She knew he'd do the right thing.

Anna was pensive. John hoped she hadn't heard. She had had some trouble finding it, and hoped that this was the right parcel….His mother just smiled. Oh dear, yes, that was it. Her mind…well. John couldn't look at her. That wasn't what it was. Not that it mattered if Anna had heard, but John….Where had she found it? John felt that he shouldn't say too much about things with Vera or Anna, until there was some hope of resolution. Of course that's where it was. He needed air. She remembered now. He felt it had been talked to death with Anna. It was the family christening gown. John felt dizzy. Anna looked at John. His mother kept talking. For safekeeping. John looked at Anna. She knew how men were. Anna was smiling, and nodding. Men never knew what was important. Her grandmother had made it, and all the babies had worn it. She wished they'd had photographers when Johnny was small. He was such a dear baby. Her eyes were clouding. John stood. Anna assured her she'd take care of it. They'd clear the table while Mrs. Bates rested.

John picked up the teapot and held the kitchen door open for Anna. His mother was stroking the edge of the gown. Anna shouldn't have to work when she was a guest, but…Nonsense. Just rest. John saw her head begin to nod, whether in sleep or in grief for her dead children, for the grandchildren who would never wear the gown, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He knew he didn't want to see her cry. She wouldn't want him to see her cry. He closed the door quietly behind him.

"John…." Anna was pale. He took her in his arms. She smelled of lemon and sweat and must and just a hint of lavender. She felt small and warm.

"I don't know." How could he say it? Mother wants us to run away together? Live in sin? "Mother is fond of you." Loves you. "And she's right, I won't know what's important to keep. There's no family, and…" Why was he becoming English now, when it mattered? Why couldn't he just tell her? It was his mother's wish. "…she so wants….she hopes…she believes we'll be able to be together." But his mother was clearly failing. He knew how much money there was. Anna was smiling. He had checked on her finances just last week. There was enough, but not enough to tempt to Vera. Not enough to help him get rid of Vera.

"Come on, these dishes won't wash themselves." Anna was still smiling. She moved to the sink, pushing up the sleeves of her dress. "I appreciate what your mother gave me." She started on the cups. "It…well, it says so much about how she regards me." She was starring out the window. "I love your mother." John wasn't helping. "And I know she needs to think we'll be able to marry." John handed her the spoons. "But…we're happy." Was there a hesitation?

John looked out the window. Someone's cat was in the garden. They were happy. He wouldn't tell Anna about what his mother had said. It wouldn't help. Waiting to see was best. His mother didn't care for cats.

"No." Anna put down the dish cloth. "I am happy, but I want more. I need more than this." John didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what he could say. "Your mother has shown me what it can be to be part of a family. I've never had that. To have a mother who loves me, a family that has heirlooms and traditions worth keeping…" She turned to him. "I want more than this. When your mother dies…." She shook her head. "Once you told Gwen that she could change her life, and that you knew." She starred at him. "I don't ask much of you, and I fancy this is for your own happiness as much as mine. It's time for another change." Anna turned, and proceeded to dry the dishes.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Spring and summer passed quietly enough for John and Anna. As the weather warmed, he and Anna were more able to have their evenings completely to themselves, but he found their trysts less satisfying now. It wasn't that they were any less enjoyable. They weren't. If anything, they had become more passionate, more exciting, but John missed the quiet intimacy of falling asleep and awakening together. Stopping was more and more difficult; parting for the night was near torture. It was no longer sufficient to make the best of what they had. Anna hadn't said anything about it since that day at his mother's, but she didn't need to. John knew. He just didn't know what he to do.

John realized one afternoon, as he and Anna walked back from the village, talking about everything and nothing, that he was just waiting for his mother to die. That was all it would take. She had written him again, reiterating their conversation. John had almost begun to believe that it was possible, that there was money. He knew better. There wasn't. But it was all he had. The way Anna was laughing, and smiling. The way he was laughing and smiling with her. Something had to change. Anna wouldn't bring it up again, but she knew he knew and he knew she knew he knew. The one proper night together, less than ideal as it had been, had been perfect. John was tired of waiting.

Of a sudden, the waiting stopped. It was a cool, clear October day, with that exciting autumnal bite in the air. John was in the courtyard, polishing shoes. William was on a break, reading the newspaper aloud. It was nothing but death. It had been for weeks. William stopped reading as Benjamin, the new hall boy, ran towards them clutching a telegram. Mr. Carson was out, and it was for Mr. Bates.

John knew as soon as he saw it. His mother was dead. No. But she would be soon. Taken a turn. Please hurry. Doctor said. John sighed, and ran his hand over his brow. She was suffering. He wished he had been correct. He took out his watch. It would be just possible to make the five o'clock train.

John barely had time to catch Anna before he left, the afternoon passed so quickly. Another maid had left, so she was busier than usual. She managed to steal out to the courtyard just before he had to leave. It was such a beautiful day.

"I'd say I'm sorry, and I am. I'll miss your mother," Anna's eyes were so wide and honest. "But really, I'm relieved that her suffering is nearly over."

John let out his breath. "I am too." He wasn't aware he had been holding it. "She didn't want to live like she has, this last year." She hadn't even died yet. She loved Anna. He'd miss her.

"I know." Anna always knew. A bird was singing. "And we'd both best be going. There's work to do." She looked to make certain they were unobserved, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek. She squeezed his hand and smiled before returning to the house.

On the way to the station, Mr. Branson was excited. Edinburgh Castle had been bombed. That was, in the scheme of things, fairly nearby. John couldn't follow. He didn't actually know how funerals worked. Would the undertaker dress his mother? What was the problem with Edinburgh? Filthy city. Irish couldn't possibly be in it with the Germans. He almost hoped he'd be too late, and that his mother would be gone by the time he arrived. Surely the undertaker had people to do those things. She'd wear her Sunday best. Mr. Branson looked confused. Perhaps he hadn't been complaining about imperialism for a change.

The train was not crowded. But for a few young men in uniform, John's carriage was empty. He wondered what they thought of all this, of going off to France to kill, to fight, to defend. At least most of these boys knew where France and Germany were. John remembered men from his time who didn't know South Africa was a place, and didn't even attempt to pronounce the names of the places they were. England sped by. One the boys was studying a picture. John couldn't tell if it was of his mother or his girl. From the look of the boy, for boy he was, it was of his mother. The changes in the landscape were so subtle. John loved autumn. The trees were so vibrant.

John wondered what he'd find when he got to his mother's. Death, and dirt. The boy was starting to weep, quietly. John couldn't watch. There was nothing he could do. And hovering women, telling him she was a good woman, and it was blessing. He turned to the window. He couldn't watch the boy cry, and he couldn't embarrass him by noticing. He'd learn that as he was turned into a soldier. John thought of Mr. Crawley and his mother. He thought of himself and his mother. She was a fine woman, and she had led a good life.

The train stopped. She so wanted him to marry Anna. She wanted it almost as much as he did. An older man missing an arm entered the carriage, and sat opposite John. He wished he hadn't. There were plenty of empty seats. He wished it was as easy to dispense with Vera and marry Anna as his mother believed. William would be taking care of Lord Grantham while John was away. All he could do was keep trying. The man was studying John. John wished he could read on the train, but he couldn't. Lord Grantham and William would have a great deal to talk about. Both were so eager to help out in this war. The man was short. Both felt so useless, and John could say nothing to either of them about the price of war that they could understand. He didn't mean his leg or his life.

The old man was smiling at John. He really didn't want to talk. Perhaps the man was just being friendly. John smiled. His arm. He wanted to talk. It was blown off in the last war. John turned to him. The last war was in Africa. He was still talking. Blown off during an ambush in the veldt. John had assumed, from the look of him, he was a relic from the Indian Mutiny at least. John began to listen, but he didn't actually hear anything the man said. They were the same age, roughly. Boys would be called up soon. That was true. William and Lord Grantham both hoped to be. This man was so old. Why did he look so decrepit? He was asking John about his leg. He'd have to say something. How old was he, anyways? John remembered that he was nearly 51. Anna was young, and beautiful, and fresh and full of life. She loved him. How could he possibly endeavor to deserve her love? The old man wanted to show John his stump. He worked at a post office. He looked dirty. John didn't care. Anna loved him. Apparently he did deserve her. John decided that perhaps he had had too much tea before leaving, and it was beginning to call attention to itself. He excused himself. With luck, he would lose his way between the carriage and the water closet.

John thought of all the things he'd need to see to once she had died. So much of it was vague to him. He had been young when his father died. Everything just seemed to happen. He knew there were things he'd have to keep in the family, whatever that meant. He smiled. She had threatened once to haunt him if he ever sold a particular sewing machine. He believed she just might. The train stopped. London was dismal. He would walk to his mother's house.

Rain began to fall as he walked. John wondered if he should stop and get something to eat. He didn't. The sooner, the better. He hoped, for his mother's sake, for his sake but he barely wanted to admit it, that it was over quickly. He arrived. He saw a low light burning in his mother's bedroom. John took a deep breath, and knocked.

A young woman he didn't know answered. A friend of Mrs. McGuinness. Mrs. Bates was upstairs. John smiled. That was where he expected her to be, all things considered. The girl blushed, and stammered. Both Mrs. Bateses were upstairs. John froze while hanging up his coat. Both Mrs. Bateses. The girl's eyes widened. John didn't want her to be uncomfortable. His marital drama was not her concern. John smiled and thanked her. He took another deep breath. Vera was alone with his mother. He suddenly, violently, wished for a drink. Nothing could prepare him for this. Vera was in the house. The girl was starring. The sooner, the better.

John was certain his leg grew heavier with each step. He had never noticed how steep the staircase in this house was. What would he find? The third step was creaky. Which Vera would greet him? He was very glad he hadn't eaten. How did she know? John remembered. Mrs. McGuinness. He suspected it would be the controlled Vera, the most dangerous. This was good. The loose step two from the top was not good. Why was she here? John heard voices. He stopped at the top of the stairs. His mother's was muffled, weak. Vera's was changed, but unmistakable. She had never lost her accent. If anything, it was stronger. John couldn't quite tell what they were saying. He disliked listening at doors, but he needed to prepare himself.

He took another deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and knocked. His mother's voice. Where was Johnny? Vera answered. Was that Johnny? Vera stepped into the hall, and closed the door. John had almost forgotten how tall Vera was. She hissed. Where had he been? It was so unusual for him to be able to look a woman in the eye without stooping. His mother was dying, and he couldn't even be on time! John looked from side to side. He wasn't sure what on time meant in this situation. He thought better of responding. That was what she wanted. He would not argue with Vera, especially outside his mother's bedroom. Was Anna with him? He sighed, and opened the door.

John noticed, as he sat in the chair by the bed, how small his mother was. He had always thought of her as a large woman, in body as well as personality, but now she was frail, tiny. She took his hand. Vera had not followed him in. John hadn't noticed. Her hand was bony, veiny, birdlike. He sighed. Oh Johnny. Her eyes were twinkly as ever. Anna's eyes were wide, and deep. Vera's had been so bewitching once. That striking combination of height, dark hair, and pale pale eyes had had John in thrall. He sat up. He had seen something in them tonight he didn't remember. They were cold as ever, but there was something else. Had the madness finally won? His mother was trying to speak. She had just shown up. Ordered everyone else around like she was some grand lady. John had suspected as much. Slippery as ever. She tried to laugh, and began to cough. He tried to find a glass, a teacup. Surely there was something to drink the sickroom. He knocked a book off the bedside table and his cane fell off his chair. The book was Keats. Oh Johnny. She laughed and shook and he could tell how it tired her. He found a teacup with someone's tea in it. He sniffed. Vera's own special blend, judging from the aroma. He poured it out the window. After all these years, the smell of whisky still made him feel sick.

Oh, Johnny. She sighed. Remember the money. She was just going to rest her eyes. She loved him. The money. Don't worry so, Vera would be back. Such a fine boy, her Johnny. John looked out the window. The sky had cleared. He heard a man screaming somewhere in the darkness. He looked at his mother. Leave the window open, she knew how he preferred it. Johnny. Always knew what to do.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

John hadn't seen Vera since the funeral. She had appeared at the graveside, stood by his side, waited until the other mourners had left, and then had said something about seeing him again soon, and walked away. He needed to see her. John had hoped to take her to luncheon, or tea, to discuss their situation, but he had not been quick enough. He moved a pile of linen. They needed to resolve things. His mother had removed her will from her bedside table and hidden it. John sighed. They needed to have a calm, civil conversation. She had likely moved it when Vera arrived. His mother had never trusted her. John smiled. He put the linens back in the drawer.

Vera had arrived at the house a few hours ahead of John. He suspected she was drawn by the potential of an inheritance. He stood. She had always maintained his mother had money hidden away they didn't know about. She was going to be disappointed. That paper had to be somewhere. For all the years of drinking, and living heaven only knew how, Vera was still a handsome woman. A very handsome woman.

John was, if not pleased, relieved to see Vera. It wasn't the will. John knew where that was. He stood. The will was barely important. He was the only heir, and there simply wasn't much aside from the house and contents. Vera clearly was ready for a change. It was the list his mother had made of what niece should get what. John just knew it existed. He had no idea what was important in the house, and his mother had threatened to haunt him over inappropriate disposal of certain items. They hadn't really talked much, but he knew where to find her. Perhaps it was inside of a book. He knew where to find Vera if she stayed in one place. He didn't want his mother to haunt him.

The house and contents wouldn't be worth enough to get rid of Vera. John's back hurt. He stood, and stretched. He was hot. He wasn't sure why he was still wearing his jacket, and tie. No one else should be coming to the house. It was getting dark. John went across the landing to his room. It was small, and faced the street, with an alcove around the window, filled with his old books. He threw his jacket on the bed, and quickly untied his tie. He turned his head from side to side. His neck felt tense and stiff. He could do with some tea.

John's mother never changed his room after he left home. The same old coverlet on the bed, the same prints on the wall, the same rug. His well-loved bear sat on the rocking chair. John picked it up and sat, affectionately scritching the bear's ear. What was its name? He missed Anna. Bedevere. Bedevere the Bear. He should write her. He had just written her yesterday. He should write Vera.

He turned to the bookcase. These were his old friends. Editions of King Arthur, Robin Hood, Scottish ballads, for boys. Jules Verne, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Mark Twain, all battered and dirty. Daniel Defoe, Jonathan Swfit, Nathaniel Hawthorne, barely holding to their covers. He picked up _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's_ _Court_, and settled into the chair, Bedevere still snug under his arm. He had so many other things he needed to do. John put his feet on the trunk at the end of his bed, and leaned back in the chair. He groaned. He also needed to write his uncle in Cork. He was drifting. He hadn't slept properly in a week. He was floating with the cool wind and the smell of the sea and the green and blue and grey of the sea and the sky and he heard a gull shrieking and there were stones and Gaelic had a word for a sandy beach and a pebbly beach but did Irish and which did his mother know he'd ask her and he was floating when he was a boy he cut his hand on a seashell and had hidden behind his mother's skirt but hadn't cried but it had hurt so and it was so cold and windy and he had such a large family and someone was laughing and saying Johnny was such a good boy and the King sat in Dunfermline town drinking the blude red wine and he was floating and he smelled bacon a bacon sandwich on warm soda bread and tea so mellow it was golden-red and then he jolted forward to keep from falling. John gasped, darkness whirling around him as he pitched forward in the chair. The book hit the floor, pages scattering. The room was so hot. Bedevere was still under his arm. John stood, and opened the window, and lit the lamp.

His back popped as he sat. The pages didn't look right. John moved the lamp closer. They didn't look right because they were banknotes. Several banknotes. He paused, and looked into the darkness. He placed the book back on the shelf, and removed _The Illustrated Treasury of Scottish Ballads. _As soon as he opened it, paper scattered to the floor. More cash. He tried another, and another. In no time, there was a small fortune in cash on the floor of his bedroom. She was an amazing woman. Money from the sale of the house, or in the bank, would have to be split with Vera. Money Vera didn't know about could be used to rid himself of her.

John leaned back, and rubbed his eyes. What a remarkable woman. He had doubted her. John laughed. He should have known better by now.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

John watched as England sped by. He had finished what business he could earlier than expected, and decided he just wanted to go home. He hadn't written Anna. He hadn't even telephoned Mr. Carson. He had left Mr. Ford's office, checked the time, and had nearly forgotten to go to his mother's house—his house—for his bag.

The day was bright. His business with Mr. Ford had been about his mother's estate, such as it was, but he had mentioned seeing Vera. It earned little more than a raised eyebrow, and the advice to be cautious, and keep the money somewhere safe. He would tell Anna tonight. Really, he needed more time to see what Vera would be willing to agree to before he started legal proceedings. He hadn't noticed that church before. John squinted. Perhaps he had. He had made this trip so many times in the last few years he had every inch memorized and he could have forgotten something in the haze.

Putting the money in his bank, or his mother's, wasn't safe. John wasn't sure what to do with it, so he kept it with him. Perhaps he'd open a new account, or speak to Lord Grantham's business advisor about an investment. The day was beautiful. Not that there was much to invest in during the war. He was hungry. Or perhaps there was. John realized how much he didn't know. He would see Anna soon, and tell her. John smiled. Anna would smile. He wasn't even sure if, at this point, he needed to talk to Vera, or communicate with her. He could be able to simply inform her of what was going to happen. He would see Anna soon, and ask her.

John shifted. The sun was in his eyes, beautiful as it was. He couldn't really ask Anna to marry him, not when he was married. But he could…suggest…imply…offer hope. He smiled. He could offer hope, when previously there had been none. He needed to make certain Vera was, at least, comfortable. She wasn't well. The fiasco of their marriage wasn't entirely her fault. She would, surely, see reason. He would tell Anna tonight.

The train cut through the Midlands. John thought of the first time he made the journey. So long ago. It seemed like yesterday. An April morning, full of promise and soft light, and now, a November midday with the clear air and bright light of autumn. It couldn't take much longer now. They would just need to be patient. They had waited so long, what was another year? Another year was torture, but it would be worth it.

John shifted. His hip was starting to ache. They would need something to do. The fields were full of cows. Lord Grantham likely would make it possible for them to stay on a bit once married. They wouldn't be the first married servants. John smiled at his reflection. He saw Anna, smiling back. They would need to save some money following the divorce. He liked using they.

Married people didn't live under someone else's authority. John wasn't sure they could stand being married and still be subject to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. They would save, and in time, leave. Perhaps open a shop. He looked up. The sky was dotted with fluffy blue clouds. Perhaps open a hotel. A small one. A hotel would really be perfect for them. He could see it. Small, simple but luxurious. Somewhere in Yorkshire. They both liked it there. It would be nice to stay near Downton if possible, and near Hetty. John smiled into the distance Hetty could come live with them, if she liked. She would have a new family. She would be a big sister to his daughter with Anna. John knew what he wanted there: one daughter, small, pale, and blond just like Anna. Patient, kind, loving, intelligent, and gentle, just like Anna.

They would go to bed when they wanted and get up when they wanted. John would sleep at night, sleep, with his body curled around Anna's. It would be warm, and perfect. He could nuzzle her hair, listen to her murmurs, feel her snug and warm at his side. He would give Vera whatever she wanted to gain his freedom.

The train was pulling into Downton. John had no idea they were so close, lost as he was. There was Lady Mary. There was Mr. Branson. He had so much to tell Anna. What concert? He wanted to ask Mr. Branson about Lord Grantham and his uniform, but he couldn't with Lady Mary in the car. He'd find out soon enough. He almost wished he'd delayed so he could miss the concert. Anna had mentioned the new maid. John didn't think he'd been away long. It felt like a lifetime and no time.

The drive. The park. The cool fresh air full of possibility. He was a sentimental fool. The house. A bed. A large and proper bed. No more groping in the dark, able to hold each other properly through the night. He would do whatever was required. Anna was waiting at the door. He would tell her tonight. He would ask her. Tell her. Anna was the first person he saw, as on that soft spring morning.

She was beaming, discretely. "You didn't say you were coming." He wanted to pull her to him, and kiss her, and tell her.

"I didn't know myself until today." He would wait until after the concert. John's heart sank as he realized between the concert, Lady Mary's arrival, and the new maid, Anna's time would be in high demand. Nothing would dampen him. He was about to be hers, forever. Her smile, the one she usually saved for private, sent a thrill down John's spine. His own lingered, while Lady Mary went about arriving. Anna disappeared behind her. John retraced the steps he'd taken that distant morning to the back door.

He had so much to tell her.


End file.
